


Triple Fun That Way

by Salvio_Hexia



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Jealousy, M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining, Other, Threesome - M/M/M, porn with (some) plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-02-07 04:43:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18613393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salvio_Hexia/pseuds/Salvio_Hexia
Summary: Arthur thinks he has every right to be annoyed that the bloke he shagged last night is flirting with his flatmate over breakfast. Look, it’s the principle of the thing, that's all. It’s not as if Arthur wants Merlin for himself, or anything.Ahem. (Yes he does.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello lovely readers! This is my first try writing in the Merlin fandom - I wanted to branch out a little, take a short break from a Fantastic Beasts fic that's a little stuck. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy this porny fluffy thing.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. I'm making no money.

Arthur hates weeks like these. Weeks where everything at the office keeps going wrong and his father’s disapproving stare across the board room feels like a dagger splitting him right through the chest. Weeks where the tight pinch of stress between his eyes never quite seems to go away.

It’s finally Friday evening, but his ire is still up, and he’s too tired and frustrated to think straight. If he goes home now, he’ll probably end up being a dick to Merlin, and despite all jokes to the contrary, making Merlin unhappy is the very last thing Arthur ever wants. 

So Arthur doesn’t go home; he goes to a dance club across town where the music rattles his bones loud enough to distract him from everything else. The press of bodies makes him sweat in the rolled-up sleeves of his expensive work shirt, and the humid air smells of sweat and alcohol, but Arthur can finally _breathe_ again.

There are women looking his way, beautiful women, but Arthur’s got a different itch under his skin tonight. He sees a guy across the pulsing tangle of dancers – fit, with dark hair and a devastating grin. Arthur takes a pull of his beer, tilts his head back, sees the guy watching. He knows exactly the picture he presents: the bob of his throat, the fullness of his lips, the perfect arch of his nose and the sharp line of his jaw. He doesn’t have to wait long; the guy is making his way through the crowd before he’s even finished swallowing.

“Hello.” Up close, the guy is ridiculously attractive. Long hair, dark stubble on the edge of a beard. His walk is a swagger, but his smile is more warmth than cockiness. “If I’m not mistaken,” he says, “you were looking my direction.”

Arthur puts down his beer, gives the guy another once-over. The man’s shirt has fallen rakishly open at the top, exposing a vee of firmly muscled chest. “Oh, I was,” Arthur says. He’s in no mood to be coy. 

The man’s eyes sparkle. “Really,” he says, moving in to lean himself against the bar. His skin gleams from dancing, and when he presses in close Arthur can smell a faint musk of perspiration and cologne. “And do you like what you see?”

His fingers are brushing sneakily against Arthur’s hip, thumb tucking itself in one of his belt loops. He’s handsy, then. Handsy but not uncouth. Good. 

“If I didn’t,” Arthur says, staring him down. “I wouldn’t be looking.” 

The guy laughs, a low rumble of amusement. “Guess not,” he says, gripping the solid muscle of Arthur’s waist. “Well. Lucky me.” 

He slides closer, tight enough to press Arthur against the bar. Arthur allows the proximity, keeps his own posture relaxed.

The guy’s voice is a low purr in his ear. “I like what I see, too,” the man murmurs. “But I’ll bet you know that. You don’t need me to tell you how gorgeous you are.” 

Arthur lets the compliment heat him up, the tension in his body finally unwinding. “Well, no,” he says dryly. “But, since you mention it, feel free to tell me anyway. Repeat it as many times as you like.”

The guy is grinning, sly fingers reaching around to grope Arthur’s arse. “Oh, I see,” he says, hot breath against Arthur’s neck. “You like worship, do you, Princess?” He has Arthur pinned comfortably against the counter now, the dense heat of him sending the promise of pleasure down to Arthur’s cock.

Arthur just raises an eyebrow. “Come home with me,” he says. “And find out.”

The guy laughs. “Listen to you,” he says. “So demanding.” But he’s already leaning in for a kiss, big hands sliding easily up Arthur’s back.

Arthur fists a hand in the man’s shirt and drags him in even closer, devours the man’s mouth. It is less of a kiss and more of a battle, a ravenous clash, tongues like swords. 

“Mmh.” The guy’s got his fingers tangled in Arthur’s hair, just the right amount of pull. He tastes good, and his chest is a solid block of muscle under Arthur’s hand. The kiss breaks apart, warm puffs of breath lingering in the space between their lips. 

“Yes,” Arthur says thickly. “You. Are coming home with me.”

He can feel the man’s smile stretch against his cheek. “As you command,” he purrs. “Your majesty.”

-

They can barely keep their clothes on in the cab. By the time they pay the driver and stagger in through the door, Arthur’s already got the man’s belt off and his jeans unzipped.

“Fuck, you taste so good,” the man moans, pressing a wet, sucking kiss against Arthur’s throat.

There’s no sign of life in the flat, aside from the bony grey cat sleeping on the sofa; Merlin must have gone to the pub with Elena and Will, or stayed late at the library studying again. Were Arthur not so fully occupied, he might’ve felt a reflexive stab of disappointment.

As it is, he’s fully distracted. 

“Bedroom’s this way,” Arthur says, fighting his way out of his shirt.

“In a hurry, Princess?” the guy pants. As if he’s one to talk. He’s already got a dark bloom of wetness at the front of his briefs, and he’s crowding Arthur through the bedroom door, hands everywhere, mouthing at his neck.

“Less talking, more disrobing,” Arthur says, reaching for the light switch. “Nnh–!” He fumbles and nearly misses it; the guy’s hand has found Arthur’s cock, the wide heat of his palm dragging across the thin clinging fabric of his briefs. Arthur arches back against the man’s shoulder with a shudder. 

“Good?” the guy murmurs, biting at his ear.

It’s a little too good. There’s a rushing in Arthur’s ears, a throbbing pleasure threatening to burst out of him.

“Fuck,” he grits out, pulling on the guy’s wrist. “Not yet. Get on the bed.”

The guy moves where Arthur pushes him, easily obedient.

Their clothes fall in a haphazard pile on the floor. After the work of a few moments, Arthur is straddling the man’s well-muscled thighs, lube smeared messily up one wrist, the man’s sizable prick held in the slippery grasp of his hand.

 _“Oh.”_ The guy’s hips are bucking tightly, hard stomach tensing, his big palms gripping Arthur’s waist and his hair spread in a messy tangle on the pillow. “Ohhh, that’s… yeah.”

“Speechless already?” Arthur asks, giving a careful twist of his fingers. “We’ve only just gotten started.”

“Oh, fuck you,” the guy gasps, laughing. His face is flushed with pleasure, eyes fixed on Arthur’s face.

Arthur smirks. “Yes,” he drawls sarcastically. “That is the general idea. Glad to know you’re keeping up.”

The man rolls his eyes, laugh deepening. “You are such a smart-arse.”

Arthur leans down and kisses him again, harsh and demanding. “Maybe you should stop me from talking, then,” he whispers, biting at the man’s jaw. “I want you to fuck me until I can’t talk or think anymore. Do you suppose you can do that?”

The man’s pupils are blown wide, his mouth red with kissing, his prick blistering hot in Arthur’s hand. “Fuck yes, Princess,” he breathes. “Just tell me how you like it.”

-

On the rare occasion he wants a cock inside him, Arthur usually likes the burn in his thighs from riding on top, the control of pinning the guy’s wrists down and taking what he wants. This time, though, he needs something else.

“Mmnh…” The man is groaning behind him – Gwaine, his name is Gwaine, he’d murmured it into Arthur’s mouth while he was getting the condom on. “So you have something to shout in pleasure,” he’d said, grinning wolfishly. 

“Yes, _fuck,”_ Arthur pants, knees dragging against the sheet, clutching the top of the headboard with sweaty fingers. “Go on, don’t be shy. I’m not delicate; put your back into it.”

Gwaine lets out a tight gasp of laughter, finally snapping his pelvis harder. His grip on Arthur’s hips is nice and tight. “Bossy, aren’t you, Princess,” he huffs, sliding one hand up to Arthur’s shoulder for leverage.

Oh, but it’s good. The force of each thrust of Gwaine’s hips sends the bed creaking, and the pounding pleasure of his cock in Arthur’s arse is so intense his vision’s gone blurry.

“Ah–” Arthur braces his forearm against the wall and lets his head fall forward, shuts his eyes tightly. Gwaine follows, body shaping itself to his, leaning forward to bite at the thick muscle of Arthur’s shoulder.

“Feel good?”

Arthur is too caught up in pleasure to dignify that with a reply. His body has gone hot and liquid, every nerve awake. His mind feels loose and wild, a perfect oblivion. Gwaine crowds him closer to the headboard, kissing along Arthur’s sweaty neck, grasping hold of the bedpost and Arthur’s fingers with one large hand. He’s a boiling wall of heat at Arthur’s back, covering him completely.

“Oh-” Gwaine grunts, little half-words escaping with every fluid snap of his hips. “Fu - uck- yes-” His breath is gusting against Arthur’s jaw, moist open mouth pressed against his skin.

“Mm-” Arthur moans. “More,” he gasps, arching his spine. “Gwaine.”

“Oh, _fuck.”_ Gwaine shudders. “Say my name again.”

Arthur turns his head and finds the man’s lips for a biting kiss. “Fuck me harder, Gwaine,” he growls.

“Shit!” The man’s pace ratchets up another notch, a frantic rhythm, all rolling hips and driving cock.

“Yes,” Arthur groans, letting his head fall back onto Gwaine’s shoulder. He fumbles wildly downward, gets one lube-smeared hand on his prick.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Gwaine says hoarsely. “Get yourself off, I want you to – ohh – _yes.”_

It doesn’t take more than a few desperate pulls. Arthur’s been close to the edge since Gwaine first cupped him through his pants, just clinging to the frayed reins of control. He makes a mess of the headboard and the pillow, a hot splatter of white landing on his chest to drip slowly down his stomach. The wringing, clenching release leaves him sagging against Gwaine, deliciously tired.

“Oh, fucking fuck-” Gwaine’s grinding his pelvis in tightly, hips giving hard little jerks, one iron-solid arm across Arthur’s chest, holding him in place. Arthur can feel it when Gwaine comes, liquid heat filling the condom inside him. The man lets out a throaty groan, pelvis stuttering, face buried in Arthur’s hair.

“Fuuuuck,” Gwain gasps. 

They slump together for a moment, both panting for air, Gwaine’s prick still held tight and warm up Arthur’s arse. 

“God, that was good,” Gwaine says breathlessly. “Glad you dragged me home for that, Princess.”

Arthur wipes his arm over his face, lets out an exhausted laugh.

-

They make a half-hearted attempt at clean-up, then slump in a boneless tangle under the sheets, sweat cooling. Arthur can tell he’s not going to have the energy for another round; it’s a shame, but he’s been running on stress and adrenaline and no sleep for too long. 

He thinks for a moment about sending Gwaine home, about calling him a cab. But the thought is idle, and not very appealing, mostly because Arthur’s too tired to move, and it would take far too much effort to find his phone and boot Gwaine out of the bed.

Also, Gwaine’s hair smells ridiculously nice, and he’s rubbing pleasant circles on Arthur’s shoulder with the calloused tips of his fingers.

“You know, I never caught your name, Princess,” Gwaine murmurs, his voice a low hum, vibrating through the cavern of his chest, pressed against Arthur’s ribs. 

Arthur makes a grumpy noise, half-asleep already. “S’Arthur,” he says, frowning. “Not a Princess.”

He feels the man’s lips press against his temple. 

“Oh, but you see,” Gwaine says. “You’re a Princess to me.”

Arthur snorts, face mashed into the pillow. “Well, you’re an idiot,” he mutters, elbowing Gwaine in the side. “So shut up.”

He falls asleep to the sound of Gwaine’s easy laughter.

 

===============================

 

As is often the case when one has a flatmate like Merlin, Arthur is woken far too early the next morning by a noisy clatter in the kitchen and the sound of an off-key voice warbling along to the radio. There’s a warm aroma of cinnamon and egg wafting temptingly under the door, and the quiet sizzle of toast in the pan.

“Grrh,” Arthur says, twitching.

He will never understand how Merlin manages to be both so thoughtful and so irritating at the same time; he’s making Arthur’s favorite breakfast, true, but he’s also ruining the first lie-in Arthur has managed to have in a good long while.

 _“Mer_ lin,” Arthur complains into his pillow. 

There’s a sleepy groan from behind him, a shift in the mattress, and Arthur becomes aware that there’s a muscular arm wrapped around his chest, a bristly scratch of stubble against his neck.

“Morning,” Gwaine rumbles, sounding just as groggy as Arthur feels.

Out in the kitchen, there’s another clatter, followed by Merlin’s exclamation of dismay. A tiny smile pulls at Arthur’s cheek. Merlin is such a clumsy idiot.

The bed creaks as Gwaine heaves himself up onto an elbow, sniffing hopefully.

“Is that French toast?” Gwaine says huskily. “And sausage? S’it a special occasion or something?”

Arthur sighs, relinquishing all hope for a nice long sleep. He rolls over, flopping petulantly against Gwaine, making a put-upon face. “No,” he says. “Merlin just likes to make a big breakfast on weekends.”

Gwaine looms over him, looking unfairly dashing even with puffy eyes and tangled hair. “Oh, I see.” He’s grinning. “Sounds like a terrible burden, Princess. How awful, some nice bloke wants to make you a bunch of food.” He’s running his fingers idly up Arthur’s side, teasing him. “How’d you arrange that, anyway? Is he your manservant?”

Arthur smacks Gwaine’s fingers away and rubs a hand over his face. “No, he’s my flatmate. Friend from school.”

He’s known Merlin since sixth form, when he was just a gangly kid with big ears and a bright smile. Back then, Arthur was a bit of a prat, and Merlin had been a flippant, annoying little clever clogs. But somehow, after bickering their way through the entirety of A levels, they had accidentally become best friends. 

“He’s the one who insists on doing the cooking,” Arthur says. “Before you get some idea that I’m a slavedriver.”

It was part of the agreement they’d struck, back when they’d decided to live together after university; they’d had a loud and exhausting row over the rent, in which Arthur had declared that Merlin didn’t need to pay him anything, because he made enough money for the both of them, and Merlin went red in the face and insisted, in a fit of pique, that he wasn’t going to accept charity. In the end they had settled on the compromise that Merlin would do the lion’s share of the household chores, in exchange for free room and board, and Arthur had grudgingly promised to stop trying to pay off Merlin’s postgrad tuition.

“Hey, I wasn’t casting any judgement,” Gwaine says. “Plenty of people love to cook.”

“Mm,” Arthur says, vaguely exasperated. "Yes." But Merlin’s not what you’d call a natural in the kitchen. Nor is he competent at much else, in fact; he’s rubbish at the laundry, forgets to separate Arthur’s red shirts from his white ones. And he absent-mindedly puts the wrong soap in the dishwasher so that it overflows in a foaming puddle on the floor.

Without Merlin, though, Arthur knows he would be a far bigger mess. He’d probably subsist on microwave curry and accidentally work himself to death. Arthur does appreciate Merlin’s help. He keeps the flat tidy, looks after the cat, and when Arthur comes home late from a horrid day at the office he’s got dinner and a hot bath waiting. 

“Rise and shine! Time to wake up, dollop-head!”

On the other hand, _without Merlin,_ he’d be left to sleep in peace on Saturday mornings, without certain obnoxious halfwits hollering through the door.

“Up and at ‘em! Come on, lazy daisy!”

Merlin’s voice is obscenely cheerful. Above Arthur, Gwaine looks far too amused.

“Yes, _fine!_ I’m awake!” Arthur bellows. “Shut up!”

He can hear laughter and the jingle of the silverware drawer, the sounds of Merlin laying the table.

Gwaine leans down to kiss Arthur’s ear, one warm hand sliding over his hip. “Well,” he rumbles. “Breakfast must be nearly ready. We shouldn’t keep your chef waiting.”

Arthur turns and bites at his jaw in retaliation, but Gwaine just laughs and slides their mouths together, crushing Arthur’s lips in a filthy kiss. Arthur is startled by how good it feels, morning breath and all. He’s not usually interested anything more with a one night stand in the morning, but Gwaine is big and warm and inviting, and surprisingly irresistible. If not for Merlin outside, Arthur might even have considered another lazy shag. Even with Merlin out there, he’s almost half tempted to dilly-dally. It gives him a strange, insolent thrill, the idea of Merlin catching them at it, coming into the room to throw back the curtains and getting an eyeful of Arthur’s cock and Gwaine’s naked arse, the mess they’ve made of each other. He’d probably turn bright pink, jaw dropped in shock, big blue eyes wide and plush pink lips gaping open. All that soft pale skin flushing red, and – 

There’s a rattling sound from the kitchen, followed by a croaky meow; Merlin must be giving Kilgarrah his breakfast. 

Arthur suddenly feels stiff and strange. Where did that train of thought come from? 

Gwaine must sense some of Arthur’s shifting mood, because he pulls back out of the kiss. 

“Or,” he murmurs, rubbing his thumb over Arthur’s cheekbone. “Is this the part where you tell me to go?” He’s still lounging there on one elbow, hair falling thick and dark around his face, effortless and handsome as a Greek god. “No strings, right,” he says. He rubs a soft circle on the thin skin behind Arthur’s ear. “Hey, I get it. Breakfast isn’t usually part of the bargain when a guy drags you home for the night.”

Arthur swallows, perturbed. 

“It’s alright,” Gwaine says, already pulling away. He’s leaving. Without fuss, without argument. Without even a hint of clinging. “I’ll get out of your hair.”

But Arthur’s skin feels cold where Gwaine’s body heat used to be, and this laid-back attitude is inconveniently attractive. 

“No. Wait,” Arthur says, grabbing hold of Gwaine’s arm. 

He’s surprised at himself. Maybe it’s the sleep-deprivation. Or maybe he’s suffering from a mental affliction induced by the hairy perfection of Gwaine’s pectorals. A strain of madness. 

Well. At least the madness would explain the strange direction his thoughts were taking just a moment ago, imagining Merlin walking in on them like that.

“You might as well stay and eat something,” he offers. 

Gwaine raises his eyebrows in surprise.

Gruffly, Arthur clears his throat. “It doesn’t have to mean anything,” he says quickly. “As you said, one time, no strings.” He licks his lips. “Just… with breakfast.”

Gwaine nods slowly, biting down on a smile. “Fair enough.”

-

A few minutes later, however, Arthur’s already regretting his decision.

True to expectation, Merlin goes gratifyingly pink and tongue-tied when Arthur emerges from his bedroom with love-bites scattered up his neck and Gwaine, rumpled and grinning, behind him. 

But the amusement of seeing Merlin’s eyes widen and his cheeks flush is somewhat diminished by the way his gaze seems to stutter helplessly across the firm planes of Gwaine’s chest, drinking in the width and strength of his shoulders. And Gwaine, in return, seems quite content to ogle Merlin’s lean legs in his skinny jeans, the adorable smear of cinnamon on his cheek, and the soft way his hair curls behind his ears.

Arthur, wrapped in his favorite red velvet dressing gown, might as well be a piece of finely-crafted furniture, for all the attention the two of them are paying him.

“Well,” Gwaine says, his voice a low purring rasp, still rough with sleep. It’s unfairly sexy. “You must be Merlin.”

Merlin’s ears are bright red. “I, er… yeah?” he says thickly, the idiot.

Good grief. 

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Yes, this is Merlin. Merlin, this is Gwaine,” Arthur says loudly, taking his seat at the round breakfast table. “Merlin, sit down and pass me the jam, would you?”

It’s terribly irritating, all this staring. It’s… rude, or something like that. 

For goodness sake, Arthur’s arms are strong too, and yet Merlin’s not looking at them nearly so intently as he’s gawking at Gwaine’s. And Gwaine! Why should his attention have wandered to Merlin so fast, when he’d been snogging Arthur a moment ago? If anybody is stare-worthy here, it is Arthur, whose chest is plenty wide and firm, and whose dressing gown highlights the breadth of his torso to perfection; he knows this for a fact. The red robe makes him look like a king, Merlin had said so himself, when he gifted it to him. “It made me think of you,” Merlin had said, grinning. “Now you can lounge around like royalty. A royal prat, anyway.”

Yes, well, if Arthur is a king, Merlin is the worst subject in the world. He’s just sitting there like a lump, motionless and wide-eyed, looking at Gwaine, and it takes Arthur three tries to get the jam from him.

“Right, here you go,” Merlin says, finally passing the jar, barely glancing in Arthur’s direction. His cheeks are bright red, his posture uncharacteristically rigid.

Why is he so flustered? He’s never like this with Arthur, when it’s just the two of them alone. Arthur frowns, trying to guess what he’s thinking. 

Gwaine is not helping anything. “Merlin, this food is delicious,” he says, grinning at Merlin with his long hair and his charming stubble, and Arthur can’t remember at all why he thought inviting him to breakfast was a good idea.

“Oh, er. Good,” Merlin says, swallowing, cheeks still a fetching pink. His smile looks a little off. “I would’ve made more, but I didn’t know we were… expecting a guest.” He says this last bit rather pointedly, glancing sideways at Arthur. “Is this… are you two…”

“No,” Gwaine says easily. “Just a one-time thing.”

This catches Arthur by surprise, even though it shouldn’t. He had said so himself, after all, just a few moments ago.

“Oh,” Merlin says, sitting a little less stiffly in his seat. “Right.” Arthur can’t read his face at all.

“Merlin,” Arthur says briskly, searching for something to say, a way to gain back his attention. “Are you going to the library this afternoon? I’ve got some dry-cleaning that needs to be picked up while you’re out. And the grocery shopping needs doing. And we’ve run out of bath salts.”

Merlin sighs. “Fine,” he says. “I’ll get to all of that later.” He’s still not looking at Arthur, eyes on his cup of tea. 

“Is he always this demanding?” Gwaine asks, leaning closer to Merlin, grinning. Arthur scowls at him.

Merlin shakes his head, mouth curled in a ghost of a smile. “You’ve no idea.”

Arthur’s scowl deepens into a glower. Neither of them seem to notice.

“What are you working on at the library, then?” Gwaine asks. “You a librarian?” 

Merlin looks up at him, soft hair falling across his forehead. “Yeah, part time. And I’m also doing research for a thesis paper for my Postgraduate Certificate. Occult themes in Welsh medieval mythology.” As always, Merlin’s eyes glaze happily at the mention of his studies. 

“You bookworm. Such a loser,” Arthur says, nudging his knee under the table. He turns to Gwaine proudly. “He’s getting a Master’s degree in sorcery.” 

It’s part of why they’ve been seeing so little of each other lately. Arthur’s been tied up at work, and Merlin’s been swamped with his research. Arthur misses the days when they had more time to spend together at home.

Merlin rolls his eyes. “It’s not sorcery, you clot-pole, I keep telling you. It’s Western Esotericism.”

“Yes, because that sounds so much more legitimate.”

“It is legitimate! I showed you on the university website, you saw it, it’s a real degree.”

“Ah, yes, that’s right,” Arthur smirks. “The website _you_ helped design.” Arthur furrows his brow in mock-skepticism. “Hmm, I wonder why I still don’t believe you.”

Merlin splutters. “You prat, I didn’t tamper with the website. I just helped Professor Gaius with the HTML. You know he’s not good with coding.”

“Mm,” Arthur says, narrowing his eyes. This is lovely, right here. Needling Merlin. Arthur could do this for hours.

“What, you think I invented an entire new course of study? And the university didn’t notice?” Merlin says. “I wouldn’t –“

Arthur’s grinning at him, smug.

“Oh, you’re just winding me up,” Merlin groans, smacking Arthur in the chest with the back of his hand. “You utter arse.” He’s glaring, mouth twitching.

Arthur leans back in his chair in satisfaction, shoving Merlin with his arm, and Merlin tries unsuccessfully to hide his laughter with a scowl. 

Gwaine’s watching them both, a delighted look on his face. “Well, gentlemen, I never paid much attention in school, but what you’re talking about sounds pretty wicked. Welsh myths – knights and dragons and enchanted swords, yeah? Like the stuff in the Mabinogion?”

“Exactly!” Merlin turns and smiles at him, and it’s _that_ smile, the one he usually saves for Arthur when he’s done something particularly impressive. The adorably dopey one, with all the dimples. “Yeah,” Merlin says, “it’s pretty fun research.”

Gwaine laughs. “I’ll bet.” He’s disgustingly handsome when he laughs. Damn it. “In fact, you’ve got me intrigued.” He leans forward on the table, his shoulder muscles pressing against his shirt. “It’d be nice to hear more about it, if you’d have time to tell me.”

“Oh,” Merlin says, the smile still sitting on his cheeks, flushed pink. “Yeah. Sure.” He glances fleetingly at Arthur for an uncertain moment, then back at Gwaine, his eyelashes distractingly long and dark. “I suppose we could… meet up at the library sometime.”

Gwaine sets his chin on his hand. “I’d like that. I’d like to hear you explain what you’ve been reading.” He looks appraisingly over at Arthur. “Maybe his highness would consent to join us, too.”

Arthur puts down his unfinished toast, stomach suddenly feeling unaccountably sour. “No,” he says loudly, a bitter taste in his mouth and an ache behind his eyes. “I’ll pass, thanks.” He has no interest in watching Gwaine put the moves on Merlin, which is clearly where this is heading. “Sounds desperately dull. Spending time with a bunch of dusty old history books, listening to Merlin talk about _sorcery_ and other rubbish? Not a chance.”

He can tell by the way Merlin’s mouth tightens that that came out a little more derisive than he meant it to be. 

Arthur opens his mouth to amend his words, but Merlin beats him to it. 

“Well,” Merlin says dryly. “Some people just don’t have the capacity for intellectual curiosity. Wouldn’t want you to strain yourself.” He turns to Gwaine, a determined look in his eyes. “Looks like it’ll just be you and me.”

Gwaine’s looking curiously at Arthur, but when he turns to Merlin his smile is warm. “Alright.”

“Lovely,” Merlin says, raising his chin, and Arthur’s stricken gaze automatically follows the bob of his throat. “I’m all yours.” He smiles brightly at Gwaine, dimples deep in his cheeks. “In fact, I’m free tomorrow afternoon.” 

-

Arthur’s not sure how this morning ended up so horribly out of hand. He scowls at the back of Gwaine’s head as he herds him to the door, the splash and clink of Merlin washing the dishes sounding distantly behind them.

“I had a nice time, Princess,” Gwaine says, fingers brushing against Arthur’s wrist. “Maybe I’ll run into you at the Rising Sun again. We could… do this again sometime.”

Arthur’s mood is much too dark to be charmed. “I think not,” he sniffs, ignoring the brief disappointment in Gwaine’s brown eyes. 

“Alright,” Gwaine says, shrugging. “Fair enough.” He strides out onto the front step, then he turns back, one hand on the door frame. “So,” he says quietly. “Merlin.”

Arthur frowns, crossing his arms over his chest, widening his stance to fill the doorway. For a second, Gwaine’s eyes track the movement, ogling Arthur’s chest under the robe. _Ha!_ Finally.

“What about Merlin?” Arthur says, lifting his chin.

“He’s… really something,” Gwaine says, leaning his forearm smoothly against the doorway. “Surely you’ve noticed. Smart, funny… those gorgeous eyes.”

Arthur’s not sure how to answer. Yes, Merlin is pleasant enough to look at; he has lovely high cheekbones, soft messy hair, long arms, broad shoulders, narrow hips. Not that Arthur makes a habit of admiring him. Especially not when he’s bent over, vacuuming under the sofa. That would just be… weird. 

Gwaine’s giving him a slow, assessing look. “Can’t imagine,” he says, “living with someone like that and not trying to get into their pants.”

Arthur’s jaw clenches, and there’s a strange squirming feeling in his stomach. He tries to ignore it. Gwaine probably just wants to get a rise out of him. “Well, I expect that’s because you’re a randy idiot,” he says tartly. 

Gwaine guffaws. “True,” he laughs, apparently delighted at Arthur's cheek. “That is true.” He leans closer. “But, come on, he’s practically irresistible. Have the two of you really never shagged?”

Arthur glares at him hotly. “No,” he says, voice coming out rough. “We haven’t. Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Not even once?” Gwaine asks, voice low. He tilts his head, licking his lips. “Didn’t you ever want to? Or did he turn you down?”

Arthur makes an overly incredulous face. “No,” he scoffs, in self-defense. “Not at all.” His throat clicks when he tries to swallow. “I just don’t think of him that way. He’s… Merlin. He’s… ridiculous.”

Gwaine raises his eyebrows. “Ridiculous?” he says. 

“Yes!” Arthur says. At a loss, he makes a vague sort of irritated gesture. “He’s clumsy, and wears all these scarves… and he gets the hiccups far too often. I don’t want to sleep with him.” He huffs. “Obviously.” 

He’s distantly aware that didn’t quite make sense.

Gwaine just gives him a long look, amused. “Alright,” he says, straightening up. “In that case, I suppose you won’t mind if I ask him to dinner.” He smirks, eyes twinkling. “And then I’ll offer to fuck his brains out afterward.”

Wildly, Arthur stares at him, unsure why he feels a sudden surge of panic. His heart his pounding and his mouth is dry, for reasons he doesn’t quite want to examine. 

“I just wanted to make sure,” Gwaine is saying. “You know, before I make my move. But since you and I aren’t…” he waves a hand between them. “And you don’t have feelings for him…”

Arthur grits his teeth. “Right,” he says.

Gwaine is standing there, infuriatingly gorgeous, watching him carefully, arms crossed. “It sounds to me like you have no objection.” he says, more seriously. “Do you?”

“I…” Arthur says, lungs tight. “I suppose not.” The words taste strange. He feels backed into a corner, confused and prickly and overheated. 

“Alright,” Gwaine says. “I’ll ask him tomorrow afternoon, then. Dinner and a film. There’s a new one coming out about Robin Hood, d’you reckon he’ll like that?” 

The morning sun is shining harshly in his eyes, and Arthur can’t stand another minute of looking at Gwaine’s stupidly handsome face, at those lips that had kissed him so thoroughly last night. Those lips will soon be kissing Merlin’s soft pink ones, and then nobody will be left to kiss Arthur.

“Yes, fine, he’ll adore it,” he snaps. 

“Okay,” Gwaine says. “Arthur… are you sure you’re–”

“I don’t need to know the details, thanks,” Arthur says harshly, cutting him off. “It’s fine, Gwaine. You shagged me, and now you’ll probably shag Merlin. Bully for you.”

Gwaine, frowning, barely has time to get himself out of the way before Arthur slams the door.

 

===============================

 

It needles at him all through the following week, this confusing, hot, prickly feeling.

Arthur catches himself staring at Merlin on Thursday evening, where he sits with his dark head bent over a thick book, Kilgarrah sprawled sleepily across his thighs. Merlin’s face is tinted gold with late slanting sunlight, illuminating the high ridges of his cheekbones, the softness of his mouth. He looks handsome, like a painting.

“Mm?” Merlin says pleasantly, looking up. 

Arthur squints at him. Merlin doesn’t have any love-bites on his neck yet. Despite his brash words, it would seem Gwaine is taking it slow. He can’t figure out whether that makes him feel better or worse.

Er. Not that he _cares._ It’s Gwaine and Merlin’s sex life, not his. None of his concern.

“Arthur, did you need something?” 

“Ah.” Arthur clears his throat, caught. “No,” he says. “I was just…” He makes a hasty gesture. “I was thinking maybe I’d take a turn cooking dinner. Figured you might like a break.”

Merlin’s eyebrows creep upward toward his messy bangs. “You’re going to cook?”

Arthur puts his hands on his hips. “Yes, no need to sound so skeptical, _Mer_ lin. I can cook, you know. Just don’t normally have the time. I don’t usually come home this early.”

In actuality, he’s been leaving the office unusually punctually all week. It’s nice not working himself so hard. And if his new schedule also happens to reward him with more of Merlin’s company, that’s… just a fringe benefit.

“Well?” Arthur asks. “What’ll it be? Roast chicken?”

Immediately, Merlin shakes his head. “No way,” he laughs, closing his book. “I know you. You’ll make a mess of it, and that poor bird will have sacrificed its life for nothing.” Kilgarrah makes a disgruntled sound as Merlin coaxes him off his lap. “Let’s do pasta and a salad, nice and simple. I’ll help.”

Well. Arthur _had_ meant to prove he could do this on his own. But Merlin’s face is bright and pleased, and it’ll be the perfect opportunity to wrestle him into that frilly apron Arthur bought him as a joke. 

“Alright,” he says. “Pasta it is. You’d better show me which pot to use.”

“Okay,” Merlin says, rising from the sofa, grinning. 

Arthur can’t resist mussing his hair as he drags him into the kitchen.

-

He doesn’t hear anything more about Gwaine until the following Saturday night, when Merlin pokes his head into Arthur’s bedroom.

“Arthur, can I… borrow your car tomorrow? There’s a new medieval exhibit at the history museum.” 

Arthur glances up from his book, petting Kilgarrah one-handed where he’s curled against Arthur’s hip. “Yes, of course,” he says. “Haven’t I told you already? You can borrow the car whenever you need it.” 

For some reason, Merlin hesitates. “Yes, but I thought… that’s for doing chores, getting groceries.”

Rolling his eyes, Arthur marks his place and closes the book. “And for whatever else you want to do, idiot. I’m not an ogre. I want you to have fun, too.”

“Oh.” Merlin brightens. “Okay.” 

“Just make sure you take good care of it,” Arthur says, leaning himself back on one elbow against the pillows. He waves an idle hand. “No drag racing.” His dressing gown has fallen rather scandalously open across his chest, but Arthur’s too comfortable to bother with closing it.

“Got it,” Merlin says, amused. “I’ll look after the car, I promise.”

“And don’t let anybody else drive it but you.” Arthur gives him a pointed look. “I trust you,” he says. “That’s why you’re the only one with the spare key.”

Merlin nods, flushing a bit. “Right,” he says. “I won’t.” He’s got his fingers wrapped around the doorknob, but he’s making no move to leave. His eyes are dark in the low light, darting a half-glance at Arthur’s torso. 

“So,” Arthur says, feeling warm and relaxed. “A medieval exhibit, did you say? Want me to come with you?”

Merlin’s face twists in surprise. “You want to come?” he says. “To a history museum?” He scrunches his nose. “But you hate history. And museums. And reading all those boring information panels, and walking slowly, and not being loud. You know, just like you hate my thesis, and dusty old books, and myths and fanciful rubbish. _Sorcery.”_ He whispers this last bit mockingly, waggling his fingers.

“Well, hang on,” Arthur says, readjusting a pillow. “Hate’s a strong word. It’s more that I take my duty very seriously.”

Merlin frowns. “Your duty?” 

“Yes, my noble calling,” Arthur says, carefully straight-faced, “to tease you to the ends of the earth for being _such_ an anorak.” 

Snorting, Merlin strides over and grabs a pillow, whacking it at Arthur’s shoulder. Kilgarrah’s ears twitch in annoyance. “You prat,” he says. 

“No, you ought to thank me, Merlin,” Arthur crows, snatching the pillow, smirking. “Without my mockery, you’d be getting a big head from all your weird, obscure academic achievements.” He throws the pillow at Merlin, who darts away, grinning. “So, this medieval exhibit of yours. I reckon I ought to go with you. You know, just to fulfill my duty to tease you over it.”

“Oh, I see.” Merlin rolls his eyes.

“Will there be swords? If there are swords, I suppose it wouldn’t be so bad.” Arthur’s lips stretch in a bloodthirsty grin. “I like swords. The deadlier the better. And,” he says, voice melting into an exaggerated tone of concern, “I mean, somebody ought to go with you. We can’t have you there looking like a loser with no friends.”

“Very funny,” Merlin says. “Arse.” 

“That would be _so_ sad,” Arthur drawls. “The museum staff would probably pity you. Poor lamb, he’s got nothing better to do on a Sunday afternoon than waste away indoors, all alone, looking at pot shards and bits of rock.”

“Ha, ha,” Merlin says sarcastically. “More like goblets and helmets and beautiful illuminated manuscripts, you dollop-head.” He crosses his arms. “But, lucky for you, I _have_ got someone to go with, someone who actually wants to see the exhibit for its own sake. You’re off the hook. Gwaine’s meeting me there.”

Arthur, who has his mouth open for another merry retort, feels the words die on his tongue. “Oh,” he says instead. For some reason his chest hurts, like he’s been socked in the solar plexus. “Right.” His teasing smile falters. “You’ve no need of me, then.”

“Well, I–” Merlin says, grin fading. “Arthur. You could still come with us. I mean, if you really do want to. And there _are_ swords, actually. It’s just, I’ve only got two tickets, but I can call the museum when they open, ask if they’ve got–”

“No,” Arthur says firmly. He has no interest in being a third wheel, watching Gwaine point that gorgeous smile at Merlin, while Merlin blushes adorably back at him. “Don’t be ridiculous. I just didn’t realize you already had plans with him. It’s fine.”

Merlin’s giving him a strangely soft look. “You were serious about wanting to come?” he says. “Arthur, you would be welcome, I’m sure Gwaine would be glad to have you join us. You know how easygoing he is. I can–”

“No, Merlin,” Arthur says, doing his best to hide his prickling disappointment. “Shut up, it’s alright. You two enjoy the boring museum, I’ll call Leon and Percival and Elyan. We’ll have a pickup game of football or something.”

“But–”

 _“Merlin._ It’s fine. You were right, I hate museums. I’m sure everyone will have more fun this way.” Arthur reaches over and picks up his book again, cracking it open. Kilgarrah puts a grumpy little paw on his arm, demanding more ear scratches. Arthur’s heart feels oddly swollen, hot and aching. “Don’t worry your silly little head over it. Go get some sleep, I’ll see you in the morning.” 

Merlin’s still eyeing him in that earnest way he has, like he’s trying to figure Arthur out. 

“Good night,” Arthur says pointedly.

Merlin takes the hint, sighing softly. 

“Good night, Arthur.”

-

The next day, thankfully, Arthur gains a reprieve; the museum date passes without fanfare, and Arthur, Percival, Elyan and Leon troop back to the flat on Sunday evening to find Merlin alone, sans Gwaine, awaiting them with a hot stack of pizza boxes.

 _“Merlin,”_ Leon says reverently, reaching for the food.

“I think I love you, mate,” Elyan declares, mouth already full. 

“I thought you’d be hungry,” Merlin says wryly, as they devour the pizza with all the grace of a ravenous pack of wolves. “Good thing I took precautionary measures, or you might’ve eaten each other.” He turns to Arthur, impish. “Charged it to your credit card.”

“Good,” Arthur says, clapping him on the arm. He feels jubilant, high on endorphins, unstoppable. “That’s what it’s for.” He wraps his sweaty, muddy arm around Merlin’s shoulders. “You’re learning.” He smirks.

“Arthur,” Merlin complains. He’s laughing, trying to wriggle away. “Ugh. You’re all dirty.”

Really, that leaves Arthur no choice. “Oh, am I?” 

A minute later, he’s wrestled Merlin into a headlock, mussing his hair completely. “Who’s dirty now, _Mer_ lin?” Arthur asks, kissing him loudly on the forehead in triumph, rubbing his muddy cheek against Merlin’s clean one.

Merlin’s giggling, swatting at Arthur, while the guys all laugh at both of them. And in all the merriment, Merlin makes no mention of Gwaine.

-

But, of course, that’s not the end of it.

The strange prickling feeling doesn’t go away, no matter how much Arthur tries to ignore it. He can’t seem to stop thinking about the both of them, Gwaine with Merlin, Merlin with Gwaine. His heart clenches oddly when he catches Merlin snickering at his phone, texting Gwaine, smiling that dopey smile that used to belong to _Arthur_. 

On Wednesday, Merlin comes home grinning from ear to ear, with a new book of medieval poetry and a fistful of flowers. Arthur scowls at both of them on sight.

“The silly oaf just plucked these out of someone’s garden, I expect,” Merlin says, laughing, straightening the cluster of daisies that he’s stuffed in a vase. “Still, it’s kind of sweet. And he tracked this book down for me, had it shipped overnight. Just because I was sad the library didn’t have it.” 

Arthur’s glower darkens. 

Damn it. That is kind of sweet.

By Thursday afternoon, the hot angry feeling in Arthur’s chest has become worryingly dire; Arthur catches himself staring at a photo of Merlin he’s got saved in his email, his stomach squirming like it’s full of snakes. In the picture, Merlin’s got his sleeves rolled up, revealing the lean muscles of his forearms, pale skin dusted in soft dark hair. He’s got a water balloon cradled in his hands, grinning into Elena’s camera, unaware that behind him a shirtless Arthur is sneaking up with the garden hose.

Merlin has nice arms, Arthur thinks to himself, prickling with wistfulness. God, they’re nice. Good for hugs. Arthur often pretends not to like Merlin’s hugs, but they’re actually rather wonderful. His hands are nice too, strong and very nimble. Gwaine had better be appreciating Merlin’s hands. He had better be thankful for every bit of him, in fact. Gwaine may be handsome, and funny, and good in bed, and surprisingly thoughtful and easy to talk to, but he hardly deserves Merlin. Nobody deserves Merlin, really.

Well. 

Nobody except for Arth–

Arthur jolts in his office chair.

Oh god. Oh, fuck. 

-

That’s what the prickling is.

He’s been _mooning_ like a lovesick _girl_. Because he’s _jealous_. 

Because Merlin’s not meant to smile at anybody the way he smiles at Arthur. And Gwaine’s not meant to kiss anybody the way he kissed Arthur, especially not _Merlin_. Merlin is meant to be with Arthur. And not just as Arthur’s ridiculous friend, not just his best mate. 

As his… something. His boyfriend, partner, significant... someone.

Arthur wants Merlin. There can be no question of deluding himself any longer. The very thought of him with Gwaine makes his blood feel like acid in his veins, burning through his chest. It hurts with every frantic beat of his heart, imagining Gwaine’s big hands all over Merlin’s soft skin, Merlin’s lean thighs wrapped around Gwaine’s muscular waist. 

It’s unbearable. The two of them have each other, and Arthur has nobody.

-

Arthur supposes he shouldn’t have taken quite so long to define the source of his feelings.

In the back of his mind, Merlin has always been _his_. His friend, his confidant, his most loyal ally. The two of them have faced all manner of trouble, stuck together through every kind of difficulty. It was Merlin who consoled Arthur last spring when Gwen and Lance decided to break things off with him and go volunteer together for VSO, leaving Arthur stunned and heartsick and crumbling apart. Merlin’s always been the only one allowed to see Arthur at his weakest, his final line of defense in all things, his most unwavering champion. 

But on the other hand, Merlin is just Merlin. He’s easy and comfortable. It feels so strange, _wanting_ him. Arthur has seen Merlin at his best and at his worst, has seen him snot-nosed and crying, and jubilantly happy, has seen him transform from a spotty teenager into a grown man with a ridiculous fondness for scarves. He knows for a fact that Merlin is clumsy and headstrong, and a bit idiotic. And funny and sweet, and utterly adorable when he smiles. He’s seen so many different sides of Merlin that everything about him is as warm and familiar as a well-worn coat.

Wanting more is like turning that familiarity on its head. It’s a change, an abnormality. 

And change is uncomfortable.

-

Unfortunately, for all his arduous soul searching, Arthur still hasn’t really solved the problem. Now that he’s put a name to the prickling feeling, all it does is grow stronger. Looking at Merlin across the room produces a sensation akin to heartburn, which Arthur now knows is caused by a mortifying burst of sappy adoration, along with a bitter stab of covetous longing.

And if gazing at Merlin is bad, it’s nothing compared to seeing him and Gwaine together.

“Princess!”

Oh, god. It’s horrible. Gwaine is painfully gorgeous, swinging himself off an appallingly sexy motorcycle, extending one leather-gloved hand to help Merlin off after him, Merlin’s cheeks flushed a happy pink under his helmet. 

Arthur just stands there, frozen like a deer in front of a truck, key half-extended toward the door. It’s Friday evening and he’s got a bulging bag of groceries in his hand; he’d been planning to make an attempt at dinner, see if he could impress Merlin with his lasagna. But that’s not looking likely now.

“How’ve you been?” Gwaine says warmly, swaggering closer. He’s got tight jeans on that cling to the muscles in his thighs, and a threadbare grey shirt under his leather jacket, showing a deep vee of his chest. He looks absolutely, infuriatingly lickable. “Merlin tells me you’re not working yourself so hard. I’m glad to hear it.” His eyes crinkle at Arthur, genuinely pleased.

Arthur blinks at him, tongue glued to the roof of his mouth. He darts a glance at Merlin, who is grinning, his hair sticking upward in silly dark tufts, mussed from the helmet. Arthur’s heart gives a little lurch.

“Yes,” Arthur grunts, finally unfreezing himself, looking sharply away. “I’m fine.” He slides the key into the lock, swinging the door open. 

“Good,” Gwaine says, shifting closer. “That’s excellent.” For a brief moment, his hand is on Arthur’s shoulder, thumb rubbing a soft intimate circle through his work shirt. “Here, let me get that.” Before Arthur can protest, he’s swooping in and plucking the grocery bag from Arthur’s grasp. “Princesses shouldn’t have to carry shopping around,” he murmurs, winking at Arthur as he goes inside.

Arthur stares incredulously after him. 

What on earth does he think he’s playing at? 

Merlin, the idiot, seems oblivious to his boyfriend’s philandering, too busy grinning at Arthur. “Hey,” he says blithely.

Sputtering, Arthur turns, crowding Merlin against the wall with a displeased hand against his chest. “What is he doing here?” he hisses.

Merlin sputters a bit, possibly from being shoved against the brick. “He’s visiting,” he says. “Because I _like_ him, you enormous prat. I…” He bites his lip a little. “Look, I’m sorry if it’s a bit weird, since you and he were… you know. But you never said I couldn’t – I mean, I’m...” Merlin’s mouth is small and tight, an uncertain frown. “I really like him, Arthur. He’s incredible, he makes me really happy.” He sounds hurt. “I thought you’d be glad for me.” 

“Yes,” Arthur says roughly. “Of course I am. I’m glad.” He clears his throat, feeling unsteady. It’s hard to think clearly with Merlin standing right in front of him. Those big lethal blue eyes are stabbing through Arthur’s chest like arrows, beautiful and disappointed and surrounded by dark feathery lashes.

Merlin truly has no idea what he’s doing to Arthur, does he.

Taking a deep breath through his nose, Arthur tries to pull himself together. “It’s fine,” he says, rough and tight. “He’s… I’m glad that you like him, and that he makes you happy. Were you two planning to spend the evening here?” He swallows thickly, throat full of gravel. “I can… go somewhere else.”

He doesn’t particularly want to leave, but neither does he fancy sitting through dinner across from the two of them, watching them trade soppy looks and affectionate nudges.

“What? No, no,” Merlin says quickly. “Stay, please. I’d like all of us to have a chance to spend time together.” Oh, god, those eyes. Arthur’s helpless to resist that earnest, determined look. “I get so little time with you as it is,” Merlin says, twisting Arthur further around his little finger. 

Fuck.

Arthur gives him a strained smile. “I suppose,” he says. “But are you sure you want me crashing your date?”

“Yes, of course,” Merlin says. And then he promptly blushes bright pink. “I just mean… it’s not crashing.” He presses his lips together. “You’re supposed to be here. You’re important. And so is he. I want the two of you to get along.”

Arthur feels a little like groaning in despair. Somehow his hand is still on Merlin’s chest, soft skin-warm fabric under his palm. Merlin’s heartbeat is thumping against his hand, and his face is so sincere, it’s making it hard for Arthur to focus.

“Alright.” Arthur takes a breath. “Alright, I’ll stay.”

Merlin beams, bright and sunny. He smells faintly of leather and Gwaine’s aftershave, along with Arthur’s fancy herbal shampoo. 

“Good.” Merlin lifts a warm hand to cover Arthur’s fingers on his chest. “You won’t regret it, I promise,” he chirps. “We’ve got a surprise for you, we bought it today at the renaissance fair.”

Arthur sighs, his heart twinging. 

Merlin entwines their fingers and drags him toward the door. “Come on, dollop-head, we shouldn’t leave Gwaine all alone in the kitchen too long. He’ll eat everything.”

Arthur lets himself be tugged, putting up no resistance, resigning himself to whatever fresh hell is beyond that door.

-

The funny thing is, though, Arthur keeps forgetting that he’s supposed to be having a terrible time.

They make the lasagna, all three of them, crammed in the small kitchen. Gwaine dons the frilly apron with an exaggerated flourish, batting his eyelashes, which makes Merlin giggle like an idiot. Arthur feels strange, standing sandwiched between the two of them at the kitchen counter. Merlin’s in a ridiculously good mood, humming some unrecognizable tune, fiddling with the oven dials, and Gwaine’s rinsing the vegetables in the sink, winking at Arthur over his shoulder while he fondles the courgette, _completely_ outrageous. 

Arthur finds himself trying very hard not to smile.

God, what is this? Why is all of this making him so _happy?_

Merlin dimples adorably at both of them when they finally finish, sitting down at the food-laden table, which is wafting fragrant garlicky steam. “May I?” he says, with a flourish of the serving spoon, reaching to give Arthur the first portion. 

Gwaine’s pouring wine into Arthur’s glass, smiling at him as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Arthur huffs. “Yeah, alright. Thanks.”

They stuff themselves with lasagna, gorge themselves on garlic bread. Merlin’s talking about his thesis again, fingers curled absently around Gwaine’s wrist, his thumb rubbing Gwaine’s skin. Gwaine’s beaming, favoring Merlin with a deeply besotted look.

Well, Arthur thinks. At least they’re not cuddling. Not _kissing_ in front of him, not forcing Arthur to sit like a captive audience while they absorb themselves in each other. They’re making an effort to keep him included, to pay attention to him.

“What about you, Arthur?” Merlin asks, pressing their knees together under the table. “How did things go with that presentation today? The one you were worried about.” 

He’s got a smear of butter on his upper lip from the garlic bread. Arthur wants to lick it.

“Oh,” Arthur says, gruffly. “It went fine, actually. Much better than I expected.” He furrows his brow. They’re both watching him, listening attentively. Oddly enough, Gwaine’s besotted look is now pointed at Arthur. “I suppose…” Arthur says slowly, the words tasting strangely significant. “In the end, I was worried over nothing.”

Gwaine nods, and Arthur takes a bewildered sip of his wine. 

“That’s brilliant,” Merlin says, grinning. He reaches over and squeezes Arthur’s hand. “I knew you could do it.”

Arthur gives him a small smile. “Thank you.”

-

Things only get more puzzling after dinner. 

Arthur is running warm from the wine, and Gwaine and Merlin are excitedly offering up Arthur’s present from the renaissance fair. 

“We did consider getting you a princess hat,” Gwaine says, smirking. “A nice big one, of course, with lots of ribbons.” He’s watching Arthur with a tilt to his head, a fond look in his eye. His voice is low and heavy. “Prettiest thing in the whole booth. But then we saw this, and we thought you’d like it better.”

The gift comes in a long thin package, wrapped in red velvet, tied with gold tasseled cord. Arthur pulls the cloth open, and promptly loses his tongue.

Merlin is watching, bright-eyed. “What do you think?” He’s modeling some sort of feathery velvet monstrosity on his head, which Gwaine apparently bought for him, and Gwaine is wearing an elaborate plastic knight’s helmet.

“I… I love it,” Arthur says, utterly taken aback. 

It’s a sword. It’s… the best fucking sword he’s ever seen.

God, it’s so… shiny. And deadly, and _gorgeous_. This didn’t come from any of the cheap booths, like Merlin’s hat and Gwaine’s helmet. It looks real. It looks… amazing.

“This is incredible,” Arthur says, still in shock. 

His head feels warm and confused. Merlin and Gwaine took time out of their _date_ to decide on the perfect present for _Arthur?_

“God, how much did this cost? You didn’t have to–”

“No, no,” Gwaine says, waving away the protest. “Don’t worry about that, Princess, we split the price, it was fine. We were so charming, the sales girl gave us a bargain. We told her it was destiny. This sword was made for you.” He winks, leaning forward. 

Arthur stares at him, astonished. 

“Pretty wicked, yeah?” Gwaine says, watching him intently. “It’s blunted, of course. But still fuckin’ badass.”

Arthur hefts the gleaming sword, gives it an experimental swish through the air. “Yeah,” he says, helpless to disagree. He lets out a dazed laugh, staring in awe at the engravings etched on the blade. “I never knew I needed my own sword until this moment,” he says, only half-joking. “And now I feel like it belongs in my hand.”

Merlin beams, smiling so wide his eyes are reduced to jubilant crescents. Gwaine’s not far behind him. They both look entirely delighted with themselves, far more pleased than Arthur would’ve expected. Good god, how much time did they spend picking this out for him?

“It comes with a scabbard, too,” Merlin says. “See, underneath? It’s got a loop so you can hang it on the wall.”

Arthur digs through the velvet cloth and pulls out a handsome leather scabbard with detailed stitching. The sword slides smoothly inside, its gleaming pommel shining in the lamplight. “Brilliant,” Arthur says, watching fondly as Merlin and Gwaine trade a look of satisfaction. “We ought to display it in the hallway. So everyone can see it.”

If possible, Merlin’s smile gets even brighter. “Are you sure?” he says. “Then everyone will know you’re into historical stuff. You’ll be a weird loser just like me.”

Arthur kicks Merlin under the table. “Swords aren’t weird,” he says. “They’re for killing things. That’s respectable.”

Merlin laughs. “Oh, is it?” he says. “Well, you won’t be able to kill much with that one, you cabbage head, it’s duller than a letter opener.”

Arthur makes an exaggerated expression of hurt. “Shut up, you’re hurting its feelings,” he says, fondly stroking his sword in its scabbard. “It still might come in handy.” He smirks. “In case of bandits.”

“It’d certainly scare the pants off of anybody who tries to rob your flat,” Gwaine says. “The sight of you charging at them, brandishing that thing.” He leans comfortably back in his seat, grinning. “It’d probably get _me_ out of my pants, too, but that’s a different thing.”

Arthur lets out a shocked laugh, glancing at Merlin, whose cheeks are pink. “Well, that’s hardly surprising,” Arthur says, tongue loose with wine. “As I recall, it isn’t exactly a difficult task.” Merlin’s flush deepens, but he doesn’t seem offended. 

Gwaine guffaws, lounging with his elbow on the back of Merlin’s chair. “Ah, Princess, you know me too well,” he says, sliding his arm around Merlin’s shoulders. “It’s true. I’m a bit of a tart.” Arthur can see Merlin’s mouth twitch upward in a grin, biting his lip. 

“Yes, you are,” Arthur says, for a lack of anything else to say, a smile still tugging at his cheeks. 

For a honey-slow moment, they’re all grinning at each other, poised on the edge of something, Gwaine slumped against Merlin’s shoulder, Merlin’s eyes darting between the two of them, his lips wet and pink from the press of his teeth. There’s a tendril of heat stretching between them all, thin and glossy as a spider’s thread, slippery. 

Arthur’s not sure what it means. Or rather, he has a guess, but he’s afraid to be wrong. 

So, instead he rises from his seat, a careful expression on his face. “Shall we help you hang the sword up right now?” he asks. “I have a couple of mounting hooks in my room, I think.”

"Alright," Merlin says.

Arthur can't decide whether he feels relieved or disappointed that the moment is broken. 

-

The sword is hanging proudly in the hallway and the moon is rising by the time Gwaine leaves. They’ve had ice cream and a batch of Merlin’s inexpertly made cookies, and Arthur’s head still feels a little strange. He had been expecting Gwaine to stay the night in Merlin’s room, but he doesn’t. 

“Goodnight, gorgeous,” Gwaine says, pulling Merlin into his arms. He’s kissing Merlin tenderly, cupping the back of Merlin’s neck. “I’ll see you tomorrow after my work shift. I’ll stop by around four.” His voice is heavy and affectionate, intimate. Arthur probably shouldn’t be staring.

Merlin runs a hand over Gwaine’s shoulder, tucking his hair behind his ear. “Goodnight,” he whispers, kissing him softly on the lips.

They pull apart slowly. Kilgarrah appears out of the shadows to wind around Merlin’s ankles, and Merlin squats down to scoop him up, petting his ears and murmuring quietly.

Gwaine turns to Arthur. “Princess.”

Arthur holds out a hand, feeling surprisingly civil. “Well,” he says. “Thank you for the sword. It was nice to see you again.”

But Gwaine bats his hand away with a ‘pfft’ sound, pulls him into a hug. “More than nice,” he says. 

He’s warm and solid, smells of chocolate and happiness, one strong arm wrapped around Arthur’s shoulders. For a moment, Arthur lets himself relax into the wall of Gwaine’s chest, broad and steady. He’s awfully good at hugging, isn’t he, almost as good as Merlin. Gwaine’s hugs are like a battlement, a fortress, welcoming and safe. Arthur’s temple brushes against Gwaine’s forehead, beard tickling his jaw. 

And then, Gwaine’s lips are against his ear. “Since you’ve been too thick to notice,” he whispers, barely more than a breath, his hand gentle on Arthur’s neck. “He’s madly in love with you.”

Arthur’s heart jolts. 

Across the hallway, Merlin is distracted with the cat, peppering his grumpy little face with kisses.

“I couldn’t steal him away even if I wanted to,” Gwaine breathes. His fingertips brush Arthur’s hair, a hint of a caress. Lips press briefly against Arthur’s cheek, chaste but deliberate.

When he pulls back, Arthur stares at him, thunderstruck. “What?” he croaks.

Gwaine chuckles wryly. “Maybe this time you won’t slam the door on me, eh?”

And then he striding out the door with a swish of his hair, the ridiculously dramatic bomb-dropping bastard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You Brits out there, please feel free to let me know if any part of this sounded super American (or if I mis-used any slang)!


	2. Chapter 2

“Arthur,” Merlin says, amused. “Your shirt.”

It’s the next morning, somehow. Arthur only has muddy memories of dragging himself to bed the previous evening – his brain had been on fire, Gwaine’s parting words bouncing loudly off the walls of his skull, over and over again, the lingering sensation of his lips on Arthur’s cheek burning like a brand.

_He’s madly in love with you._

He’s _madly_ in _love_ with you.

But… surely Arthur would’ve noticed if Merlin had such strong feelings for him. Wouldn’t he?

Unless Merlin had been really good at hiding it.

“Arthur? You awake, or just sleeping upright?” Merlin says, laughing, waving a hand in front of his face. “You look a mess.”

Blinking, Arthur realizes he’s just been staring vaguely at nothing, mouth dry and stomach twisting. His head feels like it’s stuffed full of hyperactive bees. 

“Arthur?”

“What?” It’s far too early for this. He didn’t get more than a few winks of sleep, mind spinning in helpless astonished circles. There had been a bomb in his chest all night long, exploding repeatedly with every pound of his heart, both pleasurable and excruciating. “What’s wrong with my shirt?” 

Merlin tuts, shaking his head. “It’s all scrunched on itself. In the back, it’s all tucked up under – oh, just come here, you turnip head.” Before Arthur can protest, Merlin’s right in front of him, gently reaching to tug his hem straight. “You’d think you never learned to dress yourself.”

Thickly, Arthur swallows. This feels familiar. Back in university, Arthur had sustained all sorts of football injuries; every time, Merlin had been the one to patiently help him with his clothes each morning until he healed.

And that’s Merlin all over, isn’t it. Always looking after Arthur, always doing nice things for him, never looking for much in return. He’s always been loyal, always been devoted, always quietly waiting at Arthur’s side, always– 

Oh, fuck, Merlin really does love him.

Arthur can hear his own heartbeat loudly in his ears, frantic with jubilation, can feel the blood rushing to his cheeks. 

Merlin loves him. 

He’s transfixed by the feeling of Merlin’s fingertips sliding over his skin, the smell of Merlin’s freshly-washed hair, the calm lines of his face as he carefully brushes some small bit of lint off of Arthur’s shoulder. 

God, he’s been right here all along, hasn’t he; generous and thoughtful and patient and _loving_. 

“Merlin,” Arthur says quietly.

Merlin’s wearing a soft jumper, all cozy and warm, and Arthur wants to run his own hands all over his torso, wants to press him up against the kitchen counter and kiss him. Arthur wants shelter him, enclose him, to clutch him tight and never let go. Now that he’s really looking, it’s so obvious. Merlin shows him he cares about him in a thousand different quiet ways every day, he always has. His love is probably the most irreplaceable treasure Arthur has ever been given.

“There,” Merlin says absently, patting Arthur’s chest. And then he pauses, his hand lingering, perhaps confused by the absolute racket of a heartbeat under his palm. “Arthur…?” 

“Merlin,” Arthur says again, low and hushed. He hardly recognizes his own voice. 

Merlin’s cheeks have gone pink, and his lips are parted, surprised, as if he’s about to speak but doesn’t know what to say. His waist is so lean, so compact, where Arthur’s unthinkingly grasped hold of his hip.

They’re nose to nose, staring at each other. 

“Er…” Merlin says, rasping a little. “Did you… need me to fix anything else?” His eyes are wide, so deep and blue, pupils huge and dark. 

“No,” Arthur says. “That’s perfect. You’re perfect. You idiot.” Arthur grips Merlin tighter, dragging him close with both hands. Merlin’s mouth is open in shocked hunger, and his hand has found its way to Arthur’s shoulder.

“Arth–”

And then they’re kissing. Merlin’s pressed firm all up against his front, one of Arthur’s hands splayed possessively over his lower back, the other sliding up between the sharp planes of his shoulder blades, grabbing a fistful of his jumper and pulling him covetously closer. Merlin’s mouth is hot and perfect, slick and willing and eager.

“Mmhr – Ar –”

Merlin’s trying to say something, but he’s sabotaging himself, long arms wrapping themselves octopus-like around Arthur’s neck, fingers in his hair. Gasping, he finally manages to pull away.

“But–” Merlin pants. “What are we doing?”

Arthur’s breathless. He wants Merlin so badly it’s making his bones ache, making his ribs hurt with the effort of trying to contain his heart in his chest, when all it wants to do is leap freely into Merlin’s hands.

Merlin himself looks terrified, elated, and agonized all at once, cheeks splotchy red, eyes glassy and over-bright.

“We’re kissing, you moron,” Arthur says, leaning in again. “Finally. Probably should’ve done this ages ago.” He’s got Merlin caged beautifully against the counter-top, lips plump and flushed. He wants to keep him there forever, wants to show Merlin how much he adores him.

“No, but. Why are you – _Arthur,_ stop for a second.” Merlin squirms. His face is doing something complicated.

It’s agony not to kiss him, but Arthur pauses.

“Where did this come from?” Merlin asks. “You’ve never wanted me like this before. You just suddenly… was it… oh. Is this because of last night?”

Arthur cups the back of his neck, thumbing the soft hollow behind Merlin’s ear. “No,” he says. “Well- only indirectly.” Gwaine’s words are still pattering a drum beat in the back of his head, inflaming the pent-up yearning that’s been smoldering for so long behind his ribs. 

Merlin, however, looks disappointed. “Is this about Gwaine?” he says. He squirms again. “You want me all of a sudden, because he wanted me first?” He licks his lips, trying for a smile, but it’s wobbly. “I suppose you could never resist a competition.”

“A competition?” Arthur says. _“No._ Merlin–”

“How else do you explain this?” Merlin says lightly. “You just woke up and suddenly wanted me? Arthur, I’ve waited, I’ve come to…” Merlin’s voice cracks, and Arthur’s heart cracks along with it. Merlin looks away.

“You’ve come to what?” Arthur whispers, gently caging Merlin’s sharp cheeks between his hands.

Merlin peers warily at him. “I’ve come to accept it. After all this time, I’ve accepted you’ll never see me like that. I almost thought, after you broke up with Gwen and Lance, you might start...” He lifts a shoulder, jerkily. “But you don’t think of me that way. And it’s alright, Arthur, I know it’s not meant to happen. I’d never ask you for more than you can give me. I never want to make you uncomfortable.” He waves a shaky hand between them. “But don’t play around like this. Don’t do this if it isn’t real.”

 _“Merlin,”_ Arthur says. “It is real. Of course it’s real.”

“Is it?” Merlin says, squinting. He sighs. “Arthur… it’s flattering. Sort of. That you’re going all cave-man on me. But this isn’t a contest, you’re not going to lose me. You don’t have to stake some sort of claim. Gwaine is my boyfriend, and I care about him, but that doesn’t mean I don’t still care about you. I’m not going to disappear; I’m not going to leave you.”

“For God’s sake, Merlin.” Arthur squares his jaw. “I know it’s not a contest, and I’m not trying to one-up him.” When Merlin makes to interrupt, Arthur covers his warm mouth with one hand. “No, shut up. This didn’t start last night. I think… I’ve wanted you for months. I just didn’t…” He grimaces. “I didn’t recognize what I was feeling, until Gwaine came along and made me face up to it.”

Merlin blinks at him in shock. 

“Months?” he whispers, though it comes out more like “Mumpfh,” muffled under Arthur’s fingers.

“Yes,” Arthur says huskily. “I promise, this is not just some whim. Do you really think I’m that cruel? I wouldn’t toy with you, Merlin, _never.”_

He feels the bob of Merlin’s throat as he swallows, stubble tickling his palm.

“This is no game, this is...” Arthur grits his teeth, steeling himself. “I… I miss you when you’re out doing research, I want to be with you all the time. I want to go with you to boring museum exhibits, and eat dinner with you, and sleep next to you every night.” He lets his hand fall from Merlin’s lips, scowling down at his feet. “I want to show you that I support your weird obsession with medieval occult nonsense, even though I’m still going to tease you for it, because it’s still ridiculous.” He clears his throat. “I want to make you breakfast. Even though I’ll probably ruin it.”

He looks up, and Merlin’s gaping at him.

“I mean it,” Arthur says. “You know I wouldn’t say any of this if I wasn’t serious. I hate talking about feelings.” Arthur pulls a disgusted face. Merlin huffs, cheeks pink. “Apparently I’m no good at noticing feelings in other people, either,” Arthur says. “Until last night, I had no idea you’d been pining for me.”

At this, Merlin’s face softens in surprise, and then he scoffs. “Wasn’t pining,” he mutters. “You make me sound so pathetic.”

“Alright, fine,” Arthur says. _“Admiring_ me.”

Merlin gives a little roll of his eyes, though Arthur can see him trying to hold back a smile. “That’s hardly any better.”

“Well, what would you call it, then?” Arthur asks, pulling him close again and pressing their foreheads together. “Panting lustfully after me, sighing in adoration over my manly magnificence, swooning over my charming personality…”

 _“Charming?”_ Merlin snorts, losing the battle against his grin. “Hardly. You arse,” he says, swatting Arthur on the arm, his dimples deepening.

Arthur beams. “Oh, it was my arse, was it?” he says. “You fancied me because of my bum?”

“No,” Merlin says, shoving him and laughing, the tension broken. “Shut up!” 

“Well, I suppose it is rather excellent,” Arthur says airily. “I can’t blame you for staring at it; you certainly wouldn’t be the first. I catch people looking all the time.”

“Only because it’s so huge, I expect,” Merlin shoots back. “Almost as big as your ego.”

“Merlin!” Arthur says, mouth falling open. “Are you calling me fat?”

Merlin shrugs innocently, wriggling free of his grasp, darting an impish look toward his backside. “I’m just saying, it’s well-padded down there.”

“Well- _padded?_ I’ll show you _well-padded,_ you imbecile, I am fighting fit.” Arthur lunges, catching hold of Merlin around the waist and scooping him, hollering, over his shoulder.

“Arthur!”

He’s heavy, moving and kicking, but Arthur manages to manhandle him into a fireman’s carry, taking the opportunity to smack him on the tight round cheek of his arse.

“You – _stop that!_ ” Merlin shrieks, breathless with laughter. “You enormous prat.”

“No, there’s no use resisting, Merlin,” Arthur says, carrying him toward his bedroom. “You’ve insulted my warrior’s physique, and I must answer your challenge with a counter-attack, my honor requires it. I think a demonstration of my strength and prowess is in order.”

“Oh my god, what are you doing?” Merlin squeaks. “You’re going to – oof!”

There’s a momentary struggle as Arthur flops Merlin down onto the bed. He climbs on and pins him there, sitting on Merlin’s chest, looming over him triumphantly.

“You’re a clot-pole,” Merlin says, grinning, cheeks ruddy from being upside down.

“Mm, yes,” Arthur says, distracted. He’s got Merlin’s wrists clutched in his fists, pressed into the pillows. He can feel Merlin’s pulse rocketing against his fingers. It’s electrifying, the way Merlin’s looking at him, eyes glowing, lips parted. “Do you surrender?” Arthur says, low and rough.

“Fine,” Merlin pants, blushing, nudging him in the back with one bony knee. “Yes alright, you’re terribly strong, you conceited pillock. Now, get off. You’re heavy, you’re crushing the life out of me.”

Arthur raises an eyebrow. “Oh, _heavy,_ am I? And just what is that supposed to mean?” He leans down, as if to lay flat over Merlin’s face.

“Aah! You’re heavy with _muscle!_ That’s what I meant,” Merlin squeaks, eyes sparkling. “You know. Burly. Like Gwaine.” And then Merlin bites his lip, eyes widening in regret, smile faltering. “I mean…”

For a moment, they stare at each other, their playful ardor cooling. Arthur leans back, letting go of Merlin’s wrists.

Merlin settles a light hand on Arthur’s thigh. “Arthur,” he says, smile faded. “I…”

Arthur can see the apology in Merlin’s eyes, the worry and regret there.

“I know, Merlin,” Arthur says. 

“I like him a lot, Arthur.” Merlin’s looking up at him, distressed. “I don’t want to hurt him.” He swallows. “I haven’t known him nearly as long as I’ve loved you, but I… I really like him.”

Calmly, Arthur leans down to kiss him on the forehead. “I know,” he says softly. He swings his knee off and flops sideways next to Merlin, shoulders pressed together. He nudges Merlin in the side. “I like him too.”

Merlin looks at him in question, twisting his head on the pillow.

Arthur gazes back, shrugging. “He’s hard not to like, isn’t he?” He takes Merlin’s hand in his, fitting their fingers together. “Do you know… he’s the one who told me you loved me.”

“What?” Merlin says quietly, eyes huge.

“Last night,” Arthur says. “He whispered it in my ear.” Arthur rolls on his side, bringing Merlin’s hand to his lips, kissing his pale knuckles. “Said he couldn’t steal you away even if he wanted to.”

“Oh, god,” Merlin says, covering his face with his free hand, cheeks turning red. He swallows, wincing. “He _knew?_ Oh, fuck, of course he knew. I talk about you all the time. It must’ve been obvious how much you mean to me. He probably figured it out right away.” He lets his hand fall, confused. “But then why did he still want to go out with me?”

Arthur wedges himself closer, smirking. “Because he’s Gwaine, and he’s mad about you,” he says. He leans in, kissing Merlin’s neck. “And maybe…” He kisses Merlin’s ear, mouth open against his skin. “Maybe,” he whispers, “he liked the idea of watching this play out.” Smirking, he bites at Merlin’s jaw. 

Merlin, confused, lets his head fall back for more kisses. “You think?”

Arthur smirks, nuzzling the tender skin of his throat. “Maybe he wanted to stick around,” he murmurs, hot breath against Merlin’s neck. He lifts one knee lazily, slotting their thighs together. “To see if this resolved itself in a way that might include him.”

Merlin’s hair is deliciously mussed, soft and silky under Arthur’s hands, and the bulge of his groin is pressing temptingly against Arthur’s thigh. “Oh?” he asks distractedly, panting. 

Rolling on top of him, Arthur grinds their hips together, making Merlin gasp and shudder. “Maybe there’s an arrangement that would benefit all of us,” Arthur whispers, bracketing Merlin’s head with his elbows, kissing him hot and wet and slow. Merlin’s hands are clawing their way hungrily up his back, rucking up his shirt. “A way for us each to get what we want.”

“Mmh,” Merlin moans helplessly, hitching his leg up higher, bucking in pleasure under the pressure of Arthur’s body. 

Arthur reaches down and gets a hand under Merlin’s jumper, knuckles dragging against the soft skin of Merlin’s stomach, tracing their way up his ribs. 

“And how would we do that?” Merlin asks, shivering, pupils blown wide.

“Well,” Arthur says, nuzzling his throat, mouthing at the rapid thrum of his pulse. “We’ll have to talk to Gwaine about that when he gets here, won’t we?”

-

They get a little bit distracted, in the meantime.

Arthur’s too hungry to stop himself. He’s got Merlin trapped under him, gorgeous and responsive and gasping, and Arthur wants him so badly his vision’s blurry with lust.  
Still, he takes his time. He tugs Merlin’s jumper off, spends a lazy few minutes exploring him, both of them painfully aroused, kissing his nipples while he trails his fingernails down into the sensitive hollows of Merlin’s hips, devilishly light, right where his skin is most ticklish.

 _“Arthur,”_ Merlin gasps, bucking against him, cheeks red, both wrists still hopelessly tangled in his jumper, pinned among the pillows by Arthur’s fist. “Oh – you prat, that’s – hnnh!”

“Do you want me to stop?” Arthur purrs, biting at his chest, cupping Merlin’s cock through his jeans. He squeezes gently, the hard metal of his ring dragging over the head of Merlin’s prick.

“Of course not,” Merlin says, panting for breath. “Don’t stop.”

Arthur smirks. “That’s what I thought.”

Merlin’s nipples turn out to be deliciously sensitive, as do the insides of his thighs. When Arthur tugs Merlin’s jeans off and slides down to settle himself between his legs, Merlin practically swallows his tongue with eagerness.

“Mmh!” Merlin whimpers, hands free again, fingers tangled in Arthur’s hair, while Arthur bites gently into the lean muscle of his leg. His skin is so delectable, still faintly dewy from the shower, flushing pink in the wake of Arthur’s teeth.

“Arthur,” Merlin pleads. “Come on, I want… I–”

“What?” Arthur says indulgently, nuzzling his bollocks. “What do you want, darling?” He brushes his lips against Merlin’s cock, presses a teasing kiss at its base.

“Ohh god…” 

Merlin’s incoherent again, and Arthur grins, rising up on his knees.

“Have you got condoms in here, or should we get them from my room?”

-

Arthur feels like he’s drowning in a hazy swamp of pleasure, hot and sweating. Merlin’s cock is swollen thick between his lips, thighs wrapped around Arthur’s ears, hips twitching helplessly. His skin is slippery under Arthur’s hands, slick and humid with perspiration. Arthur’s been teasing him for the past fifteen minutes, soft lips and a wicked tongue, and now Merlin’s desperate and whining, clutching at Arthur’s scalp.

“Please, oh, Arthur, Arthur, _please –”_

Benevolent, Arthur gives in, swallowing him down deeper, sucking hard. 

Merlin comes, shouting in pleasure and spurting into the condom, his cock blistering hot in Arthur’s mouth. 

“Arthur – yes, oh! _Ohhh–”_

Satisfied, Arthur sits back, wiping the saliva from his chin, greedy hands already reaching for Merlin’s legs. He’s too horny to bother with anything elaborate; Arthur slings Merlin’s ankles over one shoulder, slicks lube between his thighs, a perfect slippery channel. Merlin’s quiet and sleepy, sweet and obliging, letting Arthur manhandle his knees together. 

“Mm.” Arthur bites his lip at the pleasurable squeeze of Merlin’s legs around his cock, staring ravenously down at the picture below him. Merlin’s eyes are heavy-lidded and soft, his cheeks blissfully flushed. He arches his back with an impish smile of satisfaction, watching Arthur take his pleasure.

“That feels nice,” Merlin murmurs, eyeing the swollen head of Arthur’s prick as it ruts in and out of the intimate seam of his thighs, gleaming and red-hot. Merlin wets a thumb against his tongue, then reaches to rub at the tip.

Arthur jerks at the sudden sensation. “Oh, fuck,” he hisses. “Merlin, _fuck…”_

Merlin’s watching Arthur smugly. “Do you like that?”

“Nnh–” Helpless, Arthur clutches Merlin’s legs tighter as his hips judder and thrust. 

He makes it four more strokes with Merlin looking at him like that, all indulgent and pleased, curious thumb rubbing at his sensitive slit, before he’s splattering Merlin’s skin with a possessive signature of white.

-

They lose track of time, dozing in a comfortable heap, Merlin tucked in the crook of Arthur’s arm, snoring quietly in his ear.

It’s well into the afternoon when they finally shuffle into the kitchen to stuff their faces with leftover lasagna, the cold blue digits of the microwave clock blinking at them in accusation.

“Oh. It’s past three,” Arthur says, looking at Merlin. “We should… clean ourselves up.”

Gwaine will be here at four.

Gwaine, who, despite his enigmatic words to Arthur last night, is still Merlin’s boyfriend.

Merlin puts down his fork, anxiousness taking over his face. He’s got a bit of lube in his hair, Arthur can see it, a sticky drying clump. “Do you think he’ll be upset?”

Arthur swallows a bite of lasagna, Gwaine’s easy smile flashing in his mind. “Well, he can’t exactly be surprised. It seemed like he was encouraging this to happen.” He takes a sip of water, clearing his throat. “But I don’t know if he realized it would be this fast.”

Merlin looks worried still. Arthur leans over and kisses him.

“Hey,” he murmurs. “We’ll just have to tell him, and see what he says.”

-

Unfortunately, despite Arthur’s best efforts to reassure him, by the time Gwaine’s motorcycle rumbles up the street at five minutes past four o’clock, Merlin’s worked himself into a bit of a state. He’s pale and guilty-looking, and when the knock comes on the door he jumps like a startled hare.

“Come _on,_ Merlin,” Arthur chides. “Don’t be such a girl’s petticoat. It’s just Gwaine, not a fire-breathing dragon.” He squeezes Merlin’s shoulder, turning toward the door. “Relax, I’ll do the talking, and–”

“No,” Merlin interrupts. “No, I ought to do the talking. I’m the one who cheated, I have to be the one to come clean.”

Arthur sighs, frowning. “Would you stop saying that? You didn’t _cheat,_ Gwaine knew about your feelings, he practically offered you to me on a platter. And we’re being honest with him about it, so we’re doing the right thing.” He continues toward the door. “I really don’t see why you’re making such a fuss.”

 _“Because,_ you prat, I care what he thinks, and I don’t want to hurt his feelings.” Determinedly, Merlin tries to push past him. “No, let me get the door. I want to talk to him first.”

“Merlin, I’ve got this, I’ll explain it to him. Just let me– no–”

_“Arthur–”_

There’s a bit of a momentary scuffle, and when the door finally swings open, Gwaine is treated to the sight of the two of them entangled in a rather undignified knot.

“Gwaine,” Arthur says, trying to blow the hair out of his eyes, at the same time that Merlin warbles, “Hello, Gwaine!” from where he’s trapped somewhere in the vicinity of Arthur’s armpit.

“Well, hello,” Gwaine laughs. “Were you two fighting to be the first to greet me?” He winks. “Because, you know, gentlemen, there’s more than enough of me to go around.” He shrugs out of his leather coat, muscles rippling, shirt pulled tight over his chest, momentarily highlighting his nipples.

“Er,” Arthur says eloquently, mouth a bit dry. “Won’t you please come in?”

“Don’t mind if I do,” Gwaine says. His eyes gleam in amusement. “And whatever you two were up to just now, please, by all means, continue. Are we wrestling? Playing twister?”

“No,” Merlin says, sounding a little dazed. Arthur notices he’s staring at Gwaine’s chest, too. “Actually, we have something we need to talk to you about.” He struggles his way out of Arthur’s slackened headlock, cheeks pink.

“Oh?” Gwaine says, raising his eyebrows. He looks between the two of them appraisingly. _“Oh,”_ he says, more seriously. He reaches out to cup Merlin’s chin, running his thumb over the faint bruise on Merlin’s jaw, and several others down the side of his throat. 

“We had sex,” Merlin squeaks out. “I – I slept with Arthur.”

“No shit,” Gwaine says, a laugh in his voice. “I think I spy the Princess’ royal seal of ownership stamped in at least five places on your neck, Merls. Our Arthur’s a possessive one, that’s for sure.”

“I’m really sorry, Gwaine,” Merlin says, pale and anxious. “I didn’t mean – I just…”

“Hey,” Gwaine says. He still has his hand on Merlin’s neck, sliding down to his shoulder. “Merlin, it’s okay.”

“You–” Merlin’s still got his mouth open like an idiot. “But– 

“I know how you feel about him,” Gwaine says. He huffs out a chuckle. “I would’ve had to be blind not to notice. It was pretty clear things would be going in this direction sooner or later.”

“Oh,” Merlin breathes.

“See?” Arthur says, suppressing his relief. “I told you he wouldn’t mind.” He flicks Merlin lightly on the ear.

“Ow,” Merlin says, clapping his hand over his ear. “Prat.”

“Worrywart.”

“Dollop-head!” Merlin elbows Arthur in the ribs.

“Idiot.”

“Stupid toad face!”

“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” Gwaine says, catching Arthur’s hand before he can retaliate by poking Merlin in the stomach. He chuckles. “I’m glad to see nothing’s changed aside from the sex. You two are fuckin’ cute when you squabble.” He keeps hold of Arthur’s hand, soft brown eyes sliding between them carefully. “But I’ve got to ask,” he says. “Does this mean I should change tonight’s dinner reservation to a table for three?” His gaze lingers on Arthur, searching. “Or… is this the point where I do the honorable thing and fall on my sword; ride off into the sunset and leave you two to your happily ever after.”

He says it easily, bravely, but Arthur can see the tight prickle of yearning in his eyes. When Arthur turns, Merlin’s face has crumpled at the suggestion of Gwaine leaving, biting his lip in dismay.

And Arthur knows his answer. 

“Nah,” he says, deliberately blasé. “Falling on your sword sounds to me like a waste of an excellent set of abs.” He leans against Gwaine, resting his forearm casually on Gwaine’s shoulder, his other hand sliding across Gwaine’s solid torso. “Don’t you think, Merlin?”

Merlin goggles at him. “Er. Yes?” 

“And anyway,” Arthur says airily, “it’d be such a shame to cancel that dinner reservation. Far easier to pull up an extra chair. Wouldn’t you say?”

Gwaine seems like he’s trying to refrain from looking too hopeful, biting the inside of his lip. “You make a fair point, Princess,” he says carefully. “Chairs are easy to come by.”

“Precisely.” Arthur nods, holding back a smile. There’s something giddy and hot flapping in his chest. “So,” he says. “We’re doing this?” 

Gwaine’s hand has found its way to Arthur’s lower back, warm through his shirt. “I’m game if you are,” Gwaine says, a little breathless. “Seems like the three of us might make it work.”

“Yeah,” Arthur says slowly. “I think we might.” He knows it won’t be easy or simple, trying to fit three hearts together; it didn’t work out with Lance and Gwen. But this time is different. This time is special. 

Arthur turns, looking toward Merlin. “What do you say? Shall we give it a try?”

“So that’s…” Merlin says, wide-eyed and serious. “Is that the solution? We all… share? All three of us, together?”

Arthur licks his lips. “That’s the general idea,” he says, fingers toying with a lock of Gwaine’s hair. 

“What do you think?” Gwaine says, watching Merlin. 

Merlin’s flush has deepened, eyes fixed on the two of them. And then he’s smiling, blindingly bright. “Yes,” he blurts loudly. “Of course. I– I mean _yes._ Yes, let’s do that. I want... I want both of you.” 

Arthur grins back at him helplessly, while Gwaine lets out a gusting breath of relief. “Well. Fucking brilliant,” Gwaine says loudly, one proprietary arm sliding its way around Merlin’s waist, his other hand settling on Arthur’s hip. “That’s good news for my liver. If I’d lost both of you, I was going to have to get pretty stinking drunk at the Rising Sun to drown my disappointment.” He’s leaning into Arthur, a solid wall of heat.

“Tut tut,” Arthur says, smirking. He runs a hand up Gwaine’s chest, takes hold of Gwaine by the collar of his shirt. “There’ll be no need for such excesses. I don’t want you going back to that dance club, not unless we’re with you. You look far too appealing all on your own. Someone might try and drag you home for a shag.”

Gwaine laughs, his eyes crinkling in delight. “It has been known to happen,” he says warmly. He tugs Arthur closer. “Fuck, I love it when you get possessive, Princess,” he murmurs. “With that jealous streak, I’m surprised you even let me within arm’s reach of Merlin.”

Merlin makes a sort of muffled moan.

“Yes, well, I was too busy trying to delude myself,” Arthur says, pursing his lips. “I suppose I ought to thank you for the kick in the arse you gave me last night, you unsubtle bastard.”

“Hey,” Gwaine says. “At least it got you moving. I’ve always thought subtlety was overrated.” 

“Hmph.” Arthur has had enough of talking. He melts into Gwaine, nudging their noses together. Gwaine answers with a triumphant nip of teeth and a teasing swipe of tongue, pulling him into a snog, all soft lips and wet heat. Gwaine’s big hand is kneading Arthur’s bum, rough and hungry and so fucking good. Arthur clutches the thick mass of Gwaine’s shoulders, flicks his tongue into Gwaine’s mouth, sinks his fingers into his hair. 

_“Ohh…!”_

They pause, panting, to turn and look at Merlin in surprise.

“Er,” Merlin says, surreptitiously wiping his sleeve along the corner of his mouth. His cheeks are deep red, flushed with embarrassment from letting out such a wanton whimper. “I, erm. That was…” He clears his throat.

Gwaine grins wolfishly. “What? Did you like that, Merlin?” 

“You want to see some more?” Arthur asks, heated pleasure blossoming in his stomach. He reaches out, shamelessly groping Merlin’s tight little arse. “Or do you want to join in?”

“Arthur!” Merlin squeaks. Gwaine presses in closer, squishing Merlin between the two of them. 

“Yes, come here, gorgeous,” Gwaine purrs. “I’ve waited long enough to get my hands on you.”

“You – mmh…” Merlin’s still wide-eyed and red-cheeked, but his head tilts back in pleasure as Gwaine starts kissing his neck.

“Oh,” Arthur says. “You two haven’t–? I assumed you were shagging already.”

“Not yet,” Gwaine breathes, mouthing at Merlin’s throat. “I wanted to wait until Merls felt ready.” Gwaine smirks, dragging his hands up Merlin’s belly, rucking his shirt up. He’s sliding his palm down to the waistband of Merlin’s trousers, cupping him through the fabric. “See, I could tell his head wasn’t quite sorted. Poor lad. He was all hung up on his flatmate.”

“Oh,” Arthur says, grinning. He squeezes Merlin’s wrist fondly. “Was he indeed?”

“Arthur,” Merlin murmurs, hips twitching into Gwaine’s hand. 

“Mm,” Arthur says. “Awfully decent of you, Gwaine, waiting so patiently for him.” Arthur leans in, licking a salty line up Merlin’s throat. “And to think, you let me believe you were just a charming idiot with his brain in his cock. But you were a great big softie all along. Noble and chivalrous. Like a knight.”

“Noble?” Gwaine says lazily, mock-horrified. “You slander me.” He intercepts Arthur’s mouth, nipping at his lips, kissing him over Merlin’s shoulder. “I’m not noble, I’m a dastardly playboy,” he says, eyes half-lidded with pleasure. “You’re ruining my image here, Princess. I’ve worked hard to earn my reputation as a rogue.”

Arthur snorts. “Oh, I’m sure,” he murmurs, cupping Gwaine’s jaw, their noses brushing together. Gwaine presses forward, catching his lips again, Merlin squeezed between them. “I think you’ll have to prove it to me,” Arthur says. “Just how much of a rogue you are.”

“Will I?” Gwaine says, his wrist still working Merlin slowly through his pants. “Need a demonstration?”

“Yes, I think so,” Arthur says. “You’ll have to do something awfully reprehensible if you want me to believe you. Something terribly crude, a deviant sexual deed, a shocking–”

“Oh, come _on_ already,” Merlin interrupts. “Are you _wankers_ going to stand around flirting all afternoon, or are we actually going to have any proper sex?”

Immediately, Gwaine bursts out laughing. 

Arthur beams, eyes narrowing in predatory delight.

“Why, Merlin, I thought you’d never ask.”

-

They strip him first, in punishment.

“You prats!” Merlin giggles, breathless. “Let me _up!”_ He’s down to his pants and one lone sock, squashed on the bed under both Arthur and Gwaine.

Gwaine’s gotten distracted, pinning Merlin’s shoulders down and smooshing his nose lovingly in Merlin’s chest hair, kissing his nipples, while Arthur straddles Merlin’s thighs and tries to entrap his flailing left foot.

“No, Merlin,” Arthur says reasonably. “You wanted to have _proper_ sex. That means being naked, and lying down. Stop kicking me, I’m trying to take your sock off.”

 _“Arthur,”_ Merlin growls. 

“Well, by that logic,” Gwaine says, kissing Merlin’s navel. “Princess, you and I really ought to be naked as well.”

“Hm,” Arthur says, finally catching hold of Merlin’s bony ankle. “You have a point.” He snags Merlin’s sock, flings it across the room with a flourish. Then, with a yank, he pulls his own shirt over his head. “Better?”

“Much better,” Gwaine says, rising up from the mattress to take off his own shirt. Arthur ogles him unashamedly. 

God, that man is a masterpiece.

Merlin takes advantage of his inattention to wriggle free, grinning triumphantly. “Trousers too,” he breathes. “Don’t leave me in my underwear alone.” He’s eyeing Arthur and Gwaine appreciatively, reaching out one hand to trail his fingertips down Gwaine’s abs.

“You want to help me with that, Merlin?” Gwaine says, velvety smooth.

They end up kissing instead, of course, Merlin tugging distractedly at Gwaine’s tight jeans, making very little progress, while Gwaine gets both hands in Merlin’s already mussed hair and tries to snog his face off. 

Arthur huffs fondly, throwing his own trousers and pants off the bed. “Must I do all the work myself?” 

Merlin squeaks in surprise when Arthur presses up against him, his bare cock skidding against Merlin’s lower back. Gwaine’s jeans are still hopelessly caught around his hips, Merlin fingers curled uselessly in his belt loops.

“Trousers have _zippers,_ Merlin,” Arthur says. “You have to unzip them, if you want to pull them off.” He runs his hands down Merlin’s long arms, adding his fingers into the mix, working at Gwaine’s crotch.

“I was getting there,” Merlin pants. 

“You were taking too long,” Arthur says, nipping at his ear, not-so-sneakily cupping Gwaine through his jeans. “I’ve not seen his prick in weeks. Don’t make me wait any longer.” Gwaine grunts, laughing.

“Fine, you impatient prat,” Merlin says, shivering a little when Arthur leans even further forward, rubbing his prick against Merlin’s back, peeling Gwaine’s jeans down his thighs. They get a bit tangled around his ankles, but Arthur simply gives the fabric a yank, pulling it free.

And then Gwaine’s cock is in his hand, just as nice as he remembers, thick and velvety-hot, Merlin’s fingers twisting under Arthur’s palm. 

“Oh, _fuck –_ ” Gwaine gasps.

It’s a little bit like a game, jerking him off together, trying to outdo each other in technique. Merlin feels warm and perfect in his arms, pressed tight against Arthur’s front, soft skin and bony shoulder-blades against his chest. Gwaine’s leaning back on his elbows, face open with pleasure.

“What’s this called, then?” Merlin asks. “A double handjob?”

“Whatever it’s called,” Gwaine says, out of breath. “It’s fuckin’ fantastic.”

They get the lube out, and then it’s slick everywhere, sloppy and brilliant. Arthur’s got one slippery hand on Gwaine’s balls, while his other fingers tangle with Merlin’s, engulfing Gwaine’s prick in three eager, stroking fists. 

“Ohhh.” Gwaine slides down flat on his back, hands curling in the pillow, spine arching, lost in sensation. “Fuck,” he gasps. “Ah–” His hips twitch as Merlin swirls his thumb over the tip of his cock.

“Gorgeous, isn’t he,” Arthur murmurs. His prick is rubbing lazily against Merlin’s arse through the thin fabric of his pants, chin on his shoulder, Merlin’s eager heartbeat thrumming through their joined skin.

“Absolutely,” Merlin murmurs, pressing his nose against Arthur’s cheek, grinding his arse into Arthur’s lap.

Arthur grins, one hand abandoning Gwaine’s prick to slide teasingly up Merlin’s thigh.

“So,” Gwaine breathes, eyes heavy-lidded. His hair is spread across the pillow, hips squirming, sprawled in aroused contentment. “Much as I enjoy being the center of attention, where do we go from here?” He licks his lips, watching Arthur stroke Merlin through his underwear, eyeing the bulge under Arthur’s hand. “I can pretty much guarantee I’m up for anything you want to try.” He grins broadly. “I’m the very definition of open-minded.”

Merlin hitches his hips again, subtly, rubbing against Arthur’s prick. “Me too,” he breathes. “I trust you.” He looks at Arthur, all doe-eyed and earnest, and Arthur realizes they’re both waiting on him to tell them what to do now. 

They’ve put him in charge. 

“Oh,” Arthur says thickly, a hot, deep pulse of intense pleasure rocketing through him. 

Gwaine trails an idle hand along Arthur’s thigh. “What are your orders, your majesty?” 

Merlin’s eyes sparkle. “Any ideas for what we might do?” He’s smirking, the imp. 

A wicked grin grows on Arthur’s face. “As it happens,” he says, voice coming out low and rough. “I do have something in mind.” 

-

They’re practically in the perfect position already.

Gwaine and Merlin let him manhandle them, playful but obedient. Merlin’s pants are tossed haphazardly on the floor, Gwaine’s thighs part under Arthur’s eager hands, a condom gleaming on Merlin’s prick.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” Arthur says, shifting his knees into a more comfortable position. He’s got two gloved fingers squeezed in the impossible heat of Gwaine’s arse. “Go on, Merlin. Put one of yours in too.”

Merlin’s sandwiched in front of him, prick so hard it’s nearly vertical, flush with his taut belly. He makes a sort of whine, too aroused to answer.

“Glove. Then lots of lube,” Arthur says softly.

“I know, I know,” Merlin says hoarsely, but he’s clutching gratefully at Arthur’s wrist. 

Slowly, Merlin’s finger slides in, tight against Arthur’s. Merlin’s cheeks are flushed hot, his gaze bright and hyper-focused, staring hungrily at Gwaine’s arse, then up to his face. “Alright?” he asks.

Gwaine’s stroking himself, soft eyes watching Merlin. “Fuck yes,” he says. “Feels good, sweetheart.”

Merlin grins, bright and dopey, leans forward for a kiss, wet mouths meeting in a desperate press.

Arthur follows the movement, pressing Merlin down onto Gwaine, slowly pushing their joined fingers deeper. Merlin’s making sweet little sounds into Gwaine’s mouth, his arse pointed up at Arthur, round and pert, the lean muscles of his back flexing in beautiful corded lines.

All of a sudden Arthur doesn’t think he can wait much longer. 

“Right,” he croaks, his throat dry. “Good?” He looks to Gwaine, who’s smirking, Merlin’s lips moving against his jaw. 

“Go ahead,” Gwaine says, panting. “I’m ready.”

Gingerly, Arthur tugs their fingers free. “Merlin,” Arthur says, soft and intense. “Go on. Fuck him.” Anticipation is making him giddy, sweat gathering at his hairline. 

Beneath him, Merlin obeys, still kissing Gwaine’s jaw. Arthur pulls back to get a better view. Merlin’s thighs are straining, arse flexing. He’s pressing his prick inside, trying to go slow. 

“Oh,” Gwaine shifts, mouth falling open. Arthur stares in fascination, drinking in the look on his face. “Mmm,” Gwaine purrs, voice rough. “Knew you were hiding a nice package in those skinny jeans of yours, Merls.”

“Gwaine.” Merlin lets out a breathless laugh, burying his face in Gwaine’s neck. He pants in pleasure, moaning, as his hips slide in, pelvis pressed all the way up against Gwaine’s body. “Ohh,” Merlin murmurs, and Gwaine strokes his face, brushing sweaty hair behind his ear.

“Yeah,” Gwaine says. “That’s it, babe.” He hitches his legs up higher.

“Fuck,” Arthur murmurs. He discards his wet glove, rubs a bare hand up Merlin’s back, feeling the muscles quiver under his palm.

“Nhh.” Merlin’s thrusting now, slow and deep and deliciously confident. “Yes.” His voice is low and raw, shoulder muscles tense, his narrow hips moving fluidly. Gwaine’s moaning in appreciation, big hands running all over Merlin’s skin, reaching down to squeeze Merlin’s arse.

“You’re good at that,” Gwaine murmurs, voice tight with pleasure.

It’s tantalizing, watching them both; Arthur can’t decide which of their positions he envies more.

And then Gwaine catches his eye over Merlin’s shoulder, reaching his hands further down, parting Merlin’s arse cheeks just enough to reveal a hint of his hole, a tight pink clench.

Arthur’s cock throbs. “Oh, fuck,” he rasps, reaching for a fresh glove. Gwaine’s guessed his plan. “Yes. Merlin, spread your knees.”

“Mh?” Merlin’s face is bleary with pleasure, craning to look back over his shoulder. 

Arthur looms over him, pressing in for a sideways kiss, licking Merlin’s lips, hot and swollen. “Darling. Knees wider.” Arthur’s hands guide Merlin’s lean thighs apart, finds the discarded bottle of lube among the tangled sheets. “That’s it.” He gets plenty of lube on his glove, rubs his fingers slickly against Merlin’s entrance. 

“Hhhn!” Merlin arches, twitching at the sudden sensation. His mouth is pink and gasping. “Arthur–”

“Hold him open,” Arthur murmurs, molten pleasure twisting in his stomach. Gwaine complies, and Merlin’s arse is spread firmly, offered like a present.

“Oh, fuck,” Arthur says, voice breaking, “just like that.” 

He can’t resist toying with him, rubbing his fingertips in little circles, watching his hole react. It clenches and quivers, wet and sensitive.

Merlin gasps, a cut-off little cry. “Ah– Arthur!” Merlin’s out of breath, whining helplessly, his cheeks bright red.

“Too much?” Arthur says. He withdraws his hand. 

“No, it’s– don’t stop.” Merlin arches his back in frustration, arse searching for Arthur’s missing fingers. 

“Oh,” Arthur purrs. “Not enough?”

“You _tease,”_ Merlin groans. “I’m not going to last… it feels so... nnh…”

“You like that?” Arthur says, eyes hot with eagerness. He looms closer, dragging his nose along Merlin’s cheek. “Are you close? You want me inside you when you come?”

“Please,” Merlin says. He moans as Arthur touches him again. “Arthur…”

“Of course, darling.” Arthur’s too aroused to waste any more time. He slides a finger into Merlin’s arse with careful purpose, coaxing that little ring of muscle to allow him inside. 

Merlin whimpers. He’s resumed his thrusts into Gwaine, rocking back onto Arthur’s hand. He’s shivering, a pink flush of bliss creeping down his neck.

“Don’t come yet,” Arthur whispers, kissing Merlin’s shoulder blade. “Not yet.”

Gwaine’s eyes are glinting as he watches them, pupils wide and dark with lust. Merlin groans, lets his upper body relax, his head pillowed on Gwaine’s chest. Gwaine kisses his forehead, nuzzling his hair.

Arthur’s fumbling for the box of condoms now, heart pounding. Merlin’s arse is tight around his second finger, glistening and clinging. Arthur presses his knuckles in slowly deeper, his other hand pulling out a little foil packet, pressing light kisses along Merlin’s spine. The third finger goes in while he’s distracting Merlin with ticklish nips along his side, making him squirm.

“Mmh. _Arthur.”_

“I know,” Arthur murmurs, rising up higher on his knees. “I know. Almost.” He pushes his hand in deep, just for one more moment, then pulls his fingers out. 

And then, finally, he’s yanking off the glove and rolling the condom on, and his prick’s nudging against Merlin’s arse, demanding and desperate.

“Fuck,” Gwaine says quietly, stroking Merlin’s arms. Merlin’s moaning wildly, mouth open against Gwaine’s chest, as Arthur pushes firmly inside. “There we go.” Gwaine shifts position a little, stretching out his legs.

“Merlin,” Arthur says, gasping, taking hold of his hips. He’s fully in, squeezed tight inside the inferno of Merlin’s body. “Feels so good.”

Gwaine’s grinning. “I’ll bet he does,” he murmurs. He kisses Merlin’s sweaty temple, the sharp angle of his cheek.

Merlin raises his head, eyes soft with pleasure, and finds Gwaine’s mouth, sinking into a deep kiss. Arthur leans forward, clutching firmly at Merlin’s waist, starting to move his hips in short little thrusts.

“Mh!” Merlin groans, wet mouth open against Gwaine’s. “Ohh…”

“Do you like that, babe?” Gwaine whispers. “Being caught in the middle?”

“Gwaine,” Merlin whimpers. He’s far gone, voice desperate.

Arthur fucks him harder, each of his thrusts sending Merlin’s hips forward into Gwaine. “Don’t come yet, Merlin,” he says. “We’re going to try and make Gwaine come first.”

“Oh,” Gwaine grunts, panting for air. “Fuck, Princess.”

“No, not Princess,” Arthur says. “If you want to come, you’ll call me Arthur.” He leans in closer, smirking, one hand sliding up to grip Merlin’s shoulder for leverage. “Or King Arthur, if you really must give me a title.”

Gwaine gasps out a laugh, flushed with passion. “Okay,” he pants, eyes glowing. “Fine, you’re the King.”

Arthur’s cheeks heat, a squirming stab of satisfaction lancing through his stomach. “Good,” he rasps. He feels reckless, flooded with giddy pleasure. “Merlin,” Arthur orders, tugging on Merlin’s mussed hair. “You still with us?”

“Uhh,” Merlin gasps incoherently, turning his head, eyes bleary.

“Get up here, let’s see you,” Arthur says. He guides Merlin up onto his knees, bowed spine supported against Arthur’s chest, their hips still rolling together, fucking into Gwaine. Gwaine watches hungrily, rubbing a hand up Merlin’s belly. Arthur pinches one of his nipples.

“Ohh,” Merlin whines, clinging to Arthur’s arm.

“Darling,” Arthur whispers. “Look at you.”

“Fuck,” Merlin moans, eyes wild. “Fuck, _Arthur,_ don’t call me sweet things if you expect me not to come.”

“Alright,” Arthur laughs, pressing his lips against Merlin’s ear. “Idiot.” He says it just as tenderly.

Merlin whines, twitching. Gwaine’s staring up at both of them, biting his lip. His cock is gorgeous, desperately swollen, leaking sticky glossy trails of pre-come.

“Mmm,” Arthur says, guiding Merlin’s fingers down to help stroke Gwaine. “Bring him off, Merlin,” he whispers. “Make him come. Once he comes, you can too.”

“Fuck, Arthur,” Merlin whimpers, trembling. “I’m–” Arthur soothes a hand down his side, grinding his prick into his arse.

“No, not yet, focus. You can do it,” Arthur says, kissing his throat, mouthing at his thundering pulse.

Merlin gets his other hand on Gwaine’s prick, stroking him in earnest. Arthur reaches down to fondle Gwaine’s balls. It’s a mess of hands, slippery with lube. 

“Aah, that’s good,” Gwaine gasps, rolling his neck in pleasure.

“Gwaine,” Merlin says, lips flushed deep red, eyes bright, an enchanting vision. “Oh, fuck, you’re gorgeous. I can’t – please, Gwaine. I can’t hold off.”

“Merlin,” Gwaine chokes out, arching his back.

“Ohh,” Merlin says, shuddering. Arthur nips at his ear. “Come, please come, fuck, fuck, please,” Merlin gasps urgently. His voice is breaking, hoarse. He’s so close, wild and lost, so desperate with pleasure. 

“Look at him, Gwaine,” Arthur says, low and rough, rocking his hips harder. “He _needs_ you. Look how hot he is. He’s shaking.”

“Arthur,” Gwaine moans, his grip white-knuckled on the sheets, spine curling. 

Merlin practically sobs. “Go on, come, come, Gwaine, come, please come, come _come_ –”

Nobody could resist such an entreaty. 

_“Ah!”_ Gwaine’s cock spurts sticky trails of white over all of their groping hands. His face is furrowed in pleasure, mouth open, hips shuddering. _“Merlin,_ oh, fuck, fuck!”

Immediately, Merlin’s clutching Arthur’s arm, gasping and trembling. “Now, Arthur,” he pants. “I’m – nh!” Arthur shoves him face down on Gwaine’s chest, pins him there. “Arthur. _Arthur.”_ He fucks him hard through his orgasm, Merlin’s arse fluttering and clenching around his cock.

“Ohhh,” Merlin whimpers, blissful. He’s limp and sated, his ribs heaving with each breath, sweat gleaming in the dip of his lower back. “Mmm–” he murmurs, nuzzling into Gwaine’s shoulder. Arthur keeps him pressed down, one hand on his back.

“So hot,” Gwaine says hoarsely, watching Arthur in contentment, stroking Merlin’s hair. “You look so hot on top, Princess. Fuck. You like that, don’t you? Being in command? _King_ Arthur?”

“Nnh,” Arthur says, a little helplessly. He’s not quite sure he’s in command anymore, now. He’s too close, too hot, too undone. He curls himself over both of them, attaching his mouth to the soft skin at the bend of Merlin’s neck, his pelvis pumping. He’s got his fingers on Gwaine’s shoulder, and Gwaine’s hand has found its way to his hip, urging him on. 

“Yeah,” Gwaine says, soft and intimate. “Sweetheart. We should get you a crown. You’d look fucking hot with a crown.” His hand slides up Arthur’s back.

Merlin makes a noise of agreement, gasping. “You can – wear it with your robe,” he pants, words choppy, out of breath from the rhythm of Arthur’s thrusts. He lets out a little breathy cry, still sensitive, as Arthur grinds his prick in rough and deep. Arthur’s legs are shaking.

“Oh, fuck,” Arthur whimpers.

“Mmh. That robe,” Gwaine groans. “You are such a tease. Do you know how hot you looked at breakfast, that morning I stayed?”

“I couldn’t – look at you,” Merlin gasps. “Too hot – chest hair – mmph.” 

“I just wanted to crawl under the table,” Gwaine said. “Push that robe open and suck you off.”

“Me – me too,” Merlin sighs, arching his back and flexing his arse in a way that makes Arthur’s eyes cross a little.

Gwaine barks out a laugh. “We should’ve done it.”

“What, both of us?” Merlin pants, his smile half-hidden in Gwaine’s neck.

“Oh my god,” Arthur whines. 

“Of course,” Gwaine says, kissing Merlin’s sweaty temple. Craning his neck, he manages to brush a kiss against Arthur’s forehead too. “What do you think of that, Princess? Both of us on our knees for you, licking all over your cock. Worshipping our King.”

That does it.

“Oh, god, Gwaine, _fuck–”_

Arthur’s mind is blurred into a hot dark smear of pleasure, his fingers tight on Merlin’s hips, Gwaine’s hand on his trembling thigh. He’s slipping off the edge, ecstasy burning in his stomach, satisfaction licking at his balls, waves of blissful release bursting through him.

 

==============================

 

It’s shockingly easy to lie there in the quiet afterward, not nearly as awkward as it could’ve been, were they three less well-suited people. 

Gwaine’s beaming as bright as the sun, with Merlin and Arthur both flopped on top of him. Merlin’s grinning too, dopey and dimpled and adorable, face half-smushed into Gwaine’s pectorals, using his chest as a pillow.

Arthur feels like he’s floating, relaxed and warm and easy. 

“So,” Gwaine says eventually, fingertips swirling on Arthur’s back. “Dinner?” 

Arthur levers himself up onto one elbow. 

They’re both watching him, two pairs of adoring eyes.

“Yes, let’s go,” he says, a smile pulling at his mouth. “Our table for three is waiting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Your kudos and comments make this so rewarding.


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